


O' Sweet Daughter Mine

by Ilikereadingfanfic



Series: Oh Sweet Daughter O' Mine [1]
Category: Fallout 2, Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Graphic Description, Hurt/Comfort, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Western
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2018-11-30 09:31:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11460798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ilikereadingfanfic/pseuds/Ilikereadingfanfic
Summary: It's hard to love a Courier. Even harder when he's your daddy. AU where the Courier has a daughter. Small Lore breaks.





	1. Daddy's Home

Chapter One: Daddy's Home

Songs (Audio Enhancement)

"Easy Living" by Billie Holiday.

"Who Did That To You?" by John Legend.

"Hang Me, Oh Hang Me," by Dave Van Ronk.

* * *

On days like this, Eliza would be by the lake.

It was the middle of spring, and the air was cool and brisk: the perfect time to play by the lake. It was too cold and too shallow for swimming, but other children were bound to be there, skipping rocks and playing tag. In the summer, the lake would be an arid, dried-up wasteland, and nobody would want to play outside anymore.

But today was a beautiful day. The sun was shining. The pristine smell of the mountains melded perfectly with the forest dew. A fresh bouquet of snow graced the mountaintops like a blanket. A perfect day to play. But instead, Eliza was stuck at home, wasting away the good Springtime. She sighed. It wasn't like she was allowed to leave the house when her father was away working.

The Sharp family lived on top of a hill overlooking the town of Cold Springs, a sleepy community, just a stone's throw away from New Reno. They lived in a one story, three-room cabin, near the forest. Electricity was limited, and even on good days, the Sharps barely had enough to power their home. On cold days, it was freezing, and on hot days it was sweltering. The ground wasn't suitable for farming, and no animal could live off of the land. There was only one appealing factor of the Sharp family home, and that was the isolation. Way up in the hills, nobody often came up there. On good days, at least.

Eliza didn't have many good days.

On this day, Eliza was busy, repairing the water pump. Her father had built it a while back, and the Sharps had never been short of water since. It came out a little brown, but it was clean, and most importantly, it was free.

"We don't drink any government rationed water around here," she remembered her father saying. "I ain't paying for it. A man gets his own water."

Eliza wanted the pump to be fixed before her father came back from his delivery run. He'd been gone for a few days. Eliza noticed that the longer he took on his deliveries, the worse he'd smell when he got back. So Eliza always made sure that whenever her father completed a delivery, he'd have a hot bath waiting for him at home.

The water was not coming out the tap as intended, instead leaking out at the base. A loose pipe perhaps. She cursed under her breath, and went to work, wrench in hand.

While her father was away, Eliza was expected to take care of the cabin, which was even more boring than it sounded. Nothing ever happened around the Sharp family household. Some days, a stray mole-rat might pop out of the woods, but they were so easy to get rid of, Eliza gave up on killing them (The Sharps had made a makeshift spear out of deadwood to get rid of pests. They called it the "Sharp Thingy") and instead toyed with them, luring them away with bait, or trapping them with rocks. She even took to naming them; a habit frowned upon by her father.

She wished her father would teach her how to shoot. Every time she helped clean his guns, she always contemplated what it would be like to shoot something. To kill something. Her friend from school, Jake Sutter claimed he once shot a brahmin with his daddy's shotgun. "Shot one of the heads clean off!" he bragged to everyone in earshot. She secretly hated Jake Sutter; his family was rich, and hers was not. Ever since that day, she had wanted to learn how to shoot. She had made a point to bring it up with her father, but he was always too busy to listen.

Eliza hated the days when he went away. She wasn't allowed to go to school; he'd sent a note to her principal, excusing her from her studies when he was working. She was only allowed to go into town if absolutely necessary. Other than that, she was stuck up on their house in the hills.

She gave the wrench another strong turn. The pipes looked pretty tight. She pulled the lever. A rush of familiar, brown-tinged water came rushing through. She sighed in relief, running her hands under the stream. Nice and cold.

"Yes!" Eliza exclaimed, proud of herself.

"Well, ain't that nice," called a voice from behind her.

Eliza spun around quickly. Behind her were two men. Bandits, by the looks of it. She gulped. Nobody ever came up here. On a good day at least.

The first man was tall and lanky. He wore a dirty black coat over a gauche purple suit. He had a thick black mustache, and an ugly black top hat. Under his hat, Eliza spotted tufts of purple hair. A large revolver hung by his waist. The second man was a short, pot-bellied man who wore puke coloured overalls, worn over a filthy white shirt. In his hands, he carried a rather large knife. What Eliza most noticed about him right away was his smell. She was standing a fair distance away from him, and yet she could still distinguish the man's vile odor.

"Hey there, little miss," asked the purple-haired man.

"Hello mister," Eliza said, politely.

"You seem a little young to be all out here on your own. How old are you?"

"I'm ten."

The two men snickered. She raised an eyebrow.

"You're a pretty little thing. What's your name?" asked the smelly man.

"My name is Elizabeth Josie Sharp. But people call me Eliza," she said, frowning. She didn't like the look of these two. "What's your name?"

The purple-haired man gestured to his smelly friend. "This here is Bully Bogan. And they call me Purple Randy. You know why they call me Purple Randy?"

Eliza shook her head.

"They call me purple on account of my hair. And they call me Randy cause I'll fuck just about anything." The two men broke into laughter.

Eliza grimaced. She heard that word a lot: from her father mostly. She had never known it to be associated with anything good.

"We don't have much, but our water pump is working again, so we have plenty of water. Can I get you some to drink?" asked Eliza politely.

"No need for that. Is your momma home, Eliza Sharp?" asked Bully Bogan.

"My momma's dead. Radiation poisoning took her when I was young. Daddy buried her up on that hill," Eliza responded bluntly.

"Ain't that a crying shame" said Purple Randy, smirking. "And what about your daddy? Is your daddy home?"

She bit her lip. "My daddy's away working. He's a courier. He'll be back soon though."

"Oh Christ, Randall!" said Bogan, his voice broke into a whisper. "Ain't her daddy Albert fucking Sharp?"

"Quit worrying, he ain't around. Ain't that right little darling?" affirmed Randy, laughing. "You're all alone out here, aren't ya?"

Eliza dug her feet into the dirt. "He's coming back! Any minute now. So if you're tryna' rob us or anything-"

"Rob you? Oh no, not at all little miss!" snarled Bogan. "We just wanna get to know you, is all." The two men began to stalk dangerously closer to Eliza.

"I wanna know what you got under that pretty pink dress of yours."

"I don't got nothing under this dress," scolded Eliza.

"Oh I don't think so. You know what you got under that dress?"

Eliza shook her head once more.

"A ten-year old, pretty pink pussy," sneered Purple Randy. His friend cackled. "I think I want a piece of it."

Purple Randy suddenly grabbed Eliza's waist, while the other man grabbed her arms. Eliza let out a scream. She could feel their hands, ripping and tearing away at her clothes. She bit, kicked and screamed.

"Ooh, she's a fighter ain't she! Whoowee, this gon' be fun!" yelled Bogan in delight. The two men wrestled her to ground. Bogan grabbed her arms and held her down.

"Let go! Lemme go!" Eliza continued to struggle against the stranger's dirty hands. She watched in fear, as Purple Randy began to undo his belt.

"You a fighter, Eliza?" he asked. He brought his pants down. Eliza looked in horror at the thing in his legs. "I'll beat some sense into you!" he cackled. But suddenly, a voice called out from behind them.

"HEY!" It was a loud, barking voice. An angry, frightening voice. Eliza smiled.

It was her daddy's voice.

Purple Randy and Bully Bogan turned to look at the stranger behind them.

He was dressed head to toe in black, from his black boots to his black hat. He wore a thick duster over black armor, emblazoned with the shiny white image of a two-headed bear, made impeccably noticeable by years of thorough cleaning (Eliza liked that bear). His eyes were empty and soulless, and his hands were quick, evermoving. A large gun was strapped to his side. His gaze was set straight on the bandits attacking his daughter.

Purple Randy didn't seem to recognize the danger in front of him.

"This ain't any of your business stranger. Keep walking," said Randy.

"This is my goddamn house. And that's my goddamn daughter," he snarled.

The color disappeared from Bogan's face. "Aw shit! It's Albert Sharp! I told you we shouldn'ta gone up this far-"

Eliza barely blinked as Bogan's sentence was cut short by a loud  _crack_ , as a round went straight through the man's throat. Blood shot out of the bandit's neck like a geyser, as Bogan fell to the ground, clutching at his fatal wound. She looked to her father, his gun suddenly in his hand. He pointed it at Purple Randy.

Purple Randy was now a pure shade of white. Fumbling, Randy aimed his gun at his attacker, letting out a shot in panic.

The bullet zipped into her father's arm, tearing a small hole in his duster. He really did love his duster. He took one look at the bullet hole, and looked back to Randy incredulously.

"Motherfucker!" he exclaimed.

Randy dropped his gun, his fingers paralyzed in fear. He held up his hands in surrender.

"N-now hold on, mister Sharp. I-I was just on my way, you needn't worry 'bout me no m-more!"

Her father reached into his jacket, pulling out his knife: the one that Eliza was never allowed to touch.

The bandit dropped to his knees. "P-please! I'll never come back I promise!" The outlaw spotted his gun on the ground. He made a motion to grab it, but was intercepted by Eliza, who quickly snatched it away. Eliza then brought the butt-end of the pistol down on Randy's face, who howled in pain, clutching his forehead.

Randy looked up. Above him stood the man with the large knife. He raised it above his head.

"P-please-"

Eliza looked away.

* * *

When it was all said and done, they didn't even bother to bury them.

Her father took each bandit in one arm, dragging them as if they were lifeless sacks of meat; which they now very well were. Eliza noticed that his left arm was bleeding heavily, but he didn't seem to notice.

He dragged them up over the hill, into the woods, where the colony of mole-rats lived. He told her to stay a far distance away, but she wanted to see what happened next.

The mole-rats and the Sharp family had a mutual understanding. The mole-rats left the Sharps alone, and the Sharps wouldn't kill them. While it was rather inconvenient to have such vermin close to home, it did offer some sort of "protection," so to speak. To any brave bandit who came through the woods looking to off one of the Sharps, they'd meet their grisly fate in a nest of hungry mole-rats.

The two made their way to a ridge, overlooking a small clearing- a pit. All around the walls of the pit were holes, large enough for a dog to crawl through. Tunnels, made by mole-rats. Eliza stared into the pit. Inside it, wrapped around the skeletalized arm of a dead raider, was a shiny, brown leather Pip-Boy. She recognized it on the arms of wealthy travellers, passing through to New Reno. Not even Jake had one. She eyed it greedily. Her father looked at her.

"Don't go in there," he warned.

"I won't," she pouted.

He flung the two bodies down into the pit. Eliza watched as the corpses comically tumbled down into the clearing. A minute or so passed by. Eliza looked at her father.

"Just wait. They'll smell 'em."

Sure enough, a few seconds later, out from a hole popped a single mole-rat. It was a large one, muscled and hairy. It's leathery skin stretched out over it's entire body. A distinguishing brown mark adorned its side.

"It's Mocha," Eliza said quietly.

"Mocha" carefully walked up to the two corpses lying in the clearing, sniffing at them. He took a bite, tearing off Bully Bogan's ear. As he chewed, he started to squeal, signalling to the rest of the family that dinner was on.

Suddenly, another mole-rat popped out from the ground. Then another. Then another, and another, and another, until there were dozens of mole-rats, swarming the bandits.

Eliza watched in fascination as the mole-rats went to work, stripping the flesh from their bones. She could barely make out the bodies under the tidal wave of pink, leathery, wriggly vermin. Eliza watched as Mocha took a huge chunk out of the smelly man's neck, leaving the head dangling from the body by a string, until it was torn away by the rodents. Another fat mole-rat came and dug itself between the Randy's legs, tearing off the disgusting thing with it's sharp teeth. She looked to her father.

"Why don't they ever come up and eat us?" she asked.

Her father stared emotionlessly at the macabre spectacle.

"Because if they ever did, I'd kill 'em," he replied.

He spat into the pit, which went unnoticed by the squirming creatures.

"Fuck 'em." And with that final statement, he turned and walked back towards the house.

Eliza took one last look into the pit. She watched as the blank-eyed face of Purple Randy was slowly torn apart. She spat into the pit.

"Fuck 'em," she said quietly to herself, as she ran off to rejoin her daddy.

* * *

Another fight. Another fresh new pair of scars for Eliza to treat.

Once they were inside their cabin, Eliza helped her father out of his armor. She looked at his chest. It was adorned with new wounds, scars and cuts. None more serious than the fresh bullet hole in his arm. He took a seat against the wall as Eliza retrieved the first-aid kit. He looked fatigued- he was pale and sweaty, and it looked like he hadn't eaten in awhile.

"Do we have Med-X?" he groaned, as she applied the tweezers to the wound.

"It doesn't look that bad. An' we don't have that much Med-X left," she said, clumsily trying to extract the bullet from his shoulder. He winced.

"I don't care. Get the Med-X," he said, taking a deep breath. "Your hands are shaking all to hell."

"Sorry," Eliza mumbled, as she got up to retrieve the medicine box from the bathroom.

Eliza had learned the basic fundamentals of first-aid a few years ago, back when her father came back from a particularly hard day of work. His leg had been shattered, as he had jumped off a particularly steep ridge while escaping the clutches of a band of raiders. He showed up to the house, wobbling and cursing, bleeding half to death. The femur had protruded his thigh; a thick, shining white bone, dripping in blood. He collapsed onto the floor, a few moments away from dying of shock. As he lay there, screaming his lungs out, Eliza frantically went to work. Working off an old physicians magazine, she sterilized the wound, created a makeshift splint, and properly administered painkillers. It was only due to Eliza's skills as a medic that he was able to hold on until she could run into town and fetch the surgeon. She was six.

"Hurry up!" he called. Eliza cursed under her breath. There was only one dose of Med-X left in the box.

"This is the last one we have," she told him, carefully applying the syringe to his arm. She slowly pushed down, administering the Med-X. Her dad's breathing slowed. He closed his eyes in relief.

"Thanks," he said, his voice sounding more steady. "What about whiskey? Are we out of that?"

"Uhm…" She got up and went to the kitchen. It was times like this she appreciated having a small house- it made her chores easier. Like retrieving daddy's alcohol. She opened their tiny fridge. It was dryer than the lake in the summer time.

"...No, no more whiskey."

"Shit," he breathed slowly. "Check the bottles. What do we have?"

Eliza carefully inspected the clinking glass bottles in the back of their dirty fridge.

"There's beer...something called "B'kardy"...an' there's this clear glass bottle of water…"

"What does the label say?"

"...Ab-slut Vodka."

"That's the one. Bring it here," he said, beckoning her closer.

Eliza sighed, and pulled out the glass bottle. It was half full, and warm. The fridge hadn't been working properly for weeks. She handed the bottle to her father.

"Thank you," he said, taking it graciously. "And it's pronounced 'Absolute'," he said, twisting off the cap, and putting the bottle to his mouth. He burped.

"Then why's there no 'E'?" she asked.

"I don't know," he admitted, taking another swig. He offered the bottle to her. Eliza recoiled.

"That stuff tastes yucky," she said, grimacing at the bottle. She never tried that particular one before, but all of dad's bottles had a similar, unpleasant taste.

"You don't drink it for the taste," he said. "Your hands shaking like crazy. You keep doing that and the bullets likely to sink deeper into me. I need you stable."

Eliza's face distorted unsuredly. Her father's voice softened.

"Just a little bit. Come on," he said, comfortingly.

She grabbed the bottle.

* * *

The vodka made Eliza's hands steady, but it also made her feel sick. She had successfully extracted the bullet, and she had managed to staunch the bleeding. Her father's arm was now nicely wrapped up in thick white bandages ("You saved us a trip to the Doctor, huh?"). Now, however, Eliza was feeling rather ill. Her head was spinning and her tummy ached a little. Her father told her to lie down.

He too, was experiencing some slight dizziness, from the mixture of painkillers and alcohol. He sat up against the wall, head up, eyes closed, breathing softly.

Eliza buried herself in the couch pillows. Her head felt very warm, she thought. She felt ill, but at the same time, strangely energetic. She nudged her father.

"I don't feel good," she said, poking him.

"Mm," he grunted.

She poked him again. "I don't feel good," she repeated.

He tisked. "It's just the vodka. Sleep it off. You'll feel better in the morning," he said slowly.

Eliza shook her head. "No I won't. Whenever you drink that stuff, you always wake up cranky."

"Will you shut up?" he asked, annoyed. He closed his eyes once more.

"Daddy? What's a 'pussy'?" she asked him.

"It's that thing between your legs. Don't ever say that word again."

"Oh. Cause Purple Randy said he wanted a piece of it. Why'd he want a piece of it?"

"Who the fuck is Purple Randy?" asked her father angrily.

Eliza made a small head motion towards the woods behind her. Her father sighed.

"Because some people are fucking evil, alright?"

"Is it 'bout 'sex?'" she asked.

"How you know about that?"

"Jake Sutter told me."

Her father grumbled. "I'm gonna stop sending you to that fucking school…"

"I'm hungry," Eliza whined.

"We don't have any food," he snapped.

She groaned. Her stomach rumbled disappointedly, as the notion of a hot meal evaporated. She heard her father sigh.

"Look, tomorrow morning, I'll take you into town, and I'll buy you a new dress. Then afterwards, we can go get breakfast, okay?"

Her eyes lit up. "Milo's?" she asked. Milo's Bar and Diner was Eliza's favourite restaurant in town. On the off days they could afford to eat there, Milo was always ready to serve them. He had a nice smile. He gave her extra syrup on her pancakes.

"Sure. You can get some of those…what are they called? The thing you like?"

"Pancakes," she said dreamily. "Are you sure we can eat at Milo's?"

"Mhm," her father grunted. "I'm getting paid tomorrow."

"Oh, good. Cause we also need to buy more Med-X an' more whiskey, an' a new dress."

Eliza carefully played with the loose string on the couch. The ache in her tummy was beginning to dissipate.

"Can I be a courier like you? When I'm older?" she asked.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Why do you want to be a courier?"

She shrugged. "You get to go places. See a lot of stuff."

"There ain't a lot of 'stuff' worth seeing these days, sweetheart," he laughed softly. "Ain't worth the trouble. Be a doctor. You're good at it."

"I don't wanna be a doctor."

"Well, you're damn sure not going to be no courier," he replied curtly.

Eliza shifted in her couch. "Jake Sutter says that his daddy used to be a courier. Said his daddy had the fastest gun in all of California."

"Sutter? The fucking mayor's kid?"

"Uh-huh!"

"Tell your friend he's a fucking moron, and that his daddy's an even bigger moron." He spat into the ground. "He was never a fucking courier."

"How do you know?" Eliza asked.

Her father's reply was tinged with venom: "No fucking 'politician' could do what I do. Least of all, Bill fucking Sutter. Any junkie with a pistol could kill three Bill Sutters."

"Okay…" said Eliza. A few awkward moments of silence went by. Then, a thought wormed it's way inside Eliza's head.

"Daddy?" she asked innocently. "Will you teach me how to shoot?"

"No," he said, not even opening his eyes.

"Pleaseee?" Eliza begged. "It'll be easy! I already know 'bout all the types of bullets, an' I can use the small gun that you keep behind the bed, an'-"

His eyes shot open. "How do you know about that gun?" he barked. Eliza jumped a bit.

"...Found it."

"Listen to me," he said, looking her in the eyes. "You don't touch my guns, understand?

Eliza pouted immediately. "Why not?" she whined. "Jake Sutter said-"

"Shut the fuck up about Jake fucking Sutter," her father snapped. "I'm not teaching you to shoot."

Angered, Eliza stomped the flimsy wall behind her. The entire house seemed to shake.

"I hate you! You never let me do anything!" she yelled.

His laughter did nothing to cease her ire. "Shit, my daughter's a mean drunk. I feel sorry for your future husband."

"You're the worst dad ever!" she cried.

He stopped laughing. He turned to look at her. She looked back at him defiantly. Some days, she could get away with small things. Other days, however, he'd use his belt. She didn't care. Her eyes never broke with his. Her father opened his mouth to speak. Eliza braced herself.

"I know," he said. Having said that, her father then promptly fell asleep.

* * *

_In the next chapter, the Sharps go into town, and Albert gets an interesting job offer. Tune in next time!_


	2. This Town Ain't Big Enough For The Two Of Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliza experiences her first hangover, and Albert looks for a job.

Chapter Two: This Town Ain't Small Enough For The Two Of Us.

Audio Enhancement

"Take My True Love By The Hand," by The Limeliters

"Sweetwater," by Ramin Djawadi

* * *

She didn't feel better in the morning. Matter fact, she felt much, much worse.

"BLEUUGHHHH."

Eliza felt her father patting her back as she evacuated the contents of her stomach into the dirt. It was hard to throw up on an empty stomach. Her body ached to purge something, but nothing else remained inside her. It made her quite miserable.

They'd barely made it five feet past their house before Eliza's sickness overcame her, and she needed to lie down. So Albert let her rest, or more accurately, take a nap on the dirt. While she lay on the ground writhing, making angels in the sand, her father fanned her with his hat.

"My head hurts," she whined.

"It'll pass. You just need to eat something," he replied, exhausted.

"I don't wanna walk," she moaned, drawing out every syllable, as she turned over to lie face down in the dirt.

"Eliza, get up. You're ruining your clothes," demanded Albert. Eliza let out a drawn-out muffled "no" in response.

"Eliza, at this rate, we're not going to make breakfast time, and Milo's going to stop serving his pancakes," he warned.

Frustrated and upset, Eliza broke into tears. Albert grimaced as she sobbed face-first into the muck. He relented. The poor little thing was feeling ill. And she was his daughter, after all.

"Come on, darlin'."

Having given up, Albert picked her up, brushed the sand particles off her tear-stained face, and proceeded to carry her the rest of the way down the hilly path into Cold Springs. Feeling safe in her father's arms, Eliza wrapped her hands around him, sniffling.

"I want pancakes," she whispered wistfully. He smiled, just to himself.

No matter how many wounds she bandaged, how many mole rats she killed, or how many rapists she pistol-whipped, you couldn't forget that Eliza was only ten years old.

* * *

"I don't wanna be a courier no more," he told her, as he carried her down the mountain path.

She wasn't listening much. "Okay," she mumbled.

"Frankly, it's too dangerous, pays not worth the risk, and I don't like the thought of leaving you all alone." He leapt over a small rock, not helping Eliza's nausea. She gulped.

"Then how are you gonna make money?" she asked.

"Well, that's why we're going into town. After we get breakfast and a new dress, and I get my pay for the last job from the Express outpost, we're going into Town Hall, and I'm gonna look for a new job," he said, as he carefully stepped over a small gorge. "And since I'll be here, I'll be able to look after you. You can catch up on school. You'll get to see your friends…"

"What will you do?"

"I don't know. Maybe I'll work as a guard for the ranchers. Or a builder. Whatever I do, at least I'll get to go home every night. Would you like that?" he asked her.

Eliza smiled, clutching her father tighter.

"Yeah. I'd like that."

* * *

After the second pancake, Eliza felt much better.

This was where she wanted to be. In her favorite booth, in her favorite plushy seat, eating pancakes in Milo's Bar and Diner. Her energy and appetite returned, Eliza voraciously dug into her breakfast, gobbling down the sweet doughy treat, only pausing to gulp down glasses of milk. Across the table, her father watched her in fascination as she devoured her meal. His breakfast was a little simpler: a cup of coffee, a few strips of bacon, and the latest edition of  _Cold Springs Weekly_ , the town's local news gazette: a literal rag sheet.

"You planning on slowing down, sweetheart?" asked Albert, a little concerned. "Seriously, you might throw up again."

"Smmph," replied Eliza.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," he said as he went back to reading his paper.

Eliza took a moment to swallow. "Sorry," she said sheepishly.

"Hmmph," grunted Albert, chewing on a strip of bacon whilst continuing to read the paper. Eliza raised an eyebrow at him.

"I thought you said you didn't like that newspaper," she asked.

"I don't. I'm looking at the classifieds."

Whenever Eliza didn't understand a word, she had a habit of squinting very hard, as if she was trying to read the meaning in a floating speck of dust. Albert recognised the look immediately.

"It means…'the place where advertisements go,'" he said, unsurely.

"Oh. Why are you looking at the classy-fydes?"

"Cause. That's what people who're looking for a job do." Albert smiled. "Look at this. Look who's hiring," he said, pointing to a small square lettered block in messy ink writing.

"Help Wanted. Milo's Bar and Diner," Eliza read slowly. "Does that mean you'll work for Milo?"

Albert shrugged. Eliza was amused by the thought- her father, slaving away at a grill, making bacon and pancakes.

"I don't think you'd be a good chef," Eliza giggled.

"I don't think you'd be any good either. You'd eat up everything you'd make," he fired back, smiling.

"Aww, let her be, Albert," said a familiar, friendly voice. Eliza paused to look up from her breakfast. Above their booth stood an old, balding, portly man with an apron and a pot of coffee. Milo flashed his signature, affable smile at her.

"You enjoying those pancakes, darling?" Milo asked. She smiled and nodded at him, her mouth full of syrupy goodness.

"It's all she ever talks about. Pancakes this, pancakes that. 'When are we going back to Milo's to get more pancakes?'" mocked Albert, flicking her softly.

Milo let out a booming laugh. "Well, she's my favorite customer for a reason! More coffee, Albert?"

"Thanks Milo. Why don't you sit down?"

Milo nodded graciously as he refilled Albert's coffee. The Sharp family liked Milo. Eliza, for his friendly attitude and his food. Albert, because Milo was, quote: "the only person in town not stuffed head to toe with bullshit." He respected Milo; a family man with a strong business and a good heart.

"So. What's the special occasion? Last time I saw you it was your birthday," asked Milo, taking a seat next to Eliza. It was a slow day today, so Milo could afford making a little personal time for his favorite customers.

"I just got back from Tahoe, making my deliveries. We had a bit of of a rough night," Albert admitted.

"Did you fix up your daddy again?" Milo asked Eliza. She nodded.

"He gmmt shmt!" she spoke. Bits of pancake flew out of her mouth.

"What I tell you about talking with your mouth full?" Albert scolded. She gulped down her food.

"He got shot!" she said proudly. "I took out the bullet."

Milo turned to Albert, stunned. "You got shot again?" Milo asked, bewildered. Albert sighed.

"It was a couple bandits, came by the house. I'm fine, really-"

"Albert, you really gotta get out those hills. You gotta move into town! There's plenty of empty homes available, and-"

"It was just two bandits. I can handle two bandits. And I ain't got the caps to move into town. Not since Bill Sutter hiked up the price last fall," Albert grumbled.

Milo sighed. He ruffled Eliza's hair. "Damn shame. Couriering ain't easy business."

"Well, actually, I should let you know…" Albert cleared his throat. "I'm...retiring from the Mojave Express."

Milo raised his eyebrows. "You're kidding!

"Way I see it, the caps I make ain't worth getting shot at," Albert sighed. "I've been traversing these damn wastes for six years, delivering mail. I'm tired of being a running gun, Milo. I gotta settle down."

Milo raised his coffee pot in respect. "Well, more power to you, Albert. I'll keep my ear to the ground for any job openings in town."

"Actually Milo, I'd like to talk to you about that. I saw your listing in the paper," Albert said, raising his copy of  _Cold Springs Weekly_. "If you got the work, I'd be amenable to whatever you have to offer." Albert nervously cleared his throat again. "So what do you say? Anything...available?"

But Milo shook his head sadly. "No. Nothing for you," he said, matter-of-factly.

Eliza frowned in confusion. Albert raised an eyebrow.

"It says here in the paper that you're looking for help," said Albert.

"I need a bartender, and a dishwasher. Does that sound like something you'd be willing to do?" Milo asked.

Albert sighed. "No," he said dismally.

"Really? You don't think you'd be a good fit? Washing the scum of dirty plates? Picking up after the customers? Serving a beer to the people who fear and dislike you? Come on. We both know you'd never last a minute in here."

Albert stared at the floor silently. Eliza was shocked. She'd never seen her father being dressed down before.

Eliza looked around. She hadn't noticed it before, but the other patrons often gave the Sharps a wide berth. Every time they came into Milo's Bar and Diner, it always seemed rather quiet.

Milo sighed, rubbing the back of his balding head. "Look, I'm gonna level with you Albert. You're a 'man-out-there,' and I'm a 'man-in-here. We're the same, but we measure ourselves differently. You get what I'm saying?"

"No."

"A 'man-in-here' is a simple fella. He's gotta normal life, a normal family, a normal job. He ain't one for things like danger and adventure. The 'man-in-here' lives the quiet life, and he's happy for it." Milo's eyes flashed. "A 'man-out-there' measures his worth in bullets spent and lives taken. He's tough. He's got grit. But he ain't one for washing dishes or tending bar."

"So say I give you a job," Milo continued. "I put you behind the bar over there, and put you to work. That's twelve hours of standing behind a counter, taking orders, serving drinks, earning a fraction of what you make delivering mail. You think you'd enjoy that? Nah," he waved his hand dismissively. "Even now, I can see you twitch and fidget and your seat and I recognise you ain't got the stomach for the sedentary life."

"You don't think I can hack it?" asked Albert coldly.

"It's not just that, Albert! It's degrading! You're Albert 'The Apache' Sharp! They know you from Shady Sands to New Reno! Bandits and raiders tremble at your name! And you wanna work as a dishwasher? You think the bandits and raiders are gonna be scared of you then?" Milo shook his head sadly. "But alright, I know you're stubborn. If you really want the job, I'll give it to you. Maybe you persevere. Maybe you excel at this job. Maybe I even make you sous chef. Then what? You'd still be locked in the kitchen all day, slaving over a hot-ass grill, making whose-its and what-nots for every Tom, Dick and Sally in town until the end of your days. And  _that_ ," he said, pausing to point at the younger man. "...will be your story, Albert."

Milo got up from the booth, pot of coffee in hand. "Breakfast's on the house," he said apologetically. But before he left, he turned back to tell Albert one last thing.

"You're a 'man-out-there.' Be a 'man-out-there.'"

* * *

Cold Springs was never a hustling and bustling city, but it did have it's fair share of foot traffic. Today, as the springtime sun beat down on the residents of Cold Springs, the streets were fairly busy, as stores opened up for business and children made their way to school.

The two Sharps walked out of Milo's Bar and Diner into the morning sun, feeling a bit dejected. The pancakes were great, but they felt a little funny in Eliza's stomach, as if she couldn't keep down anything made by Milo. Matter of fact, she didn't feel like she could eat Milo's Bar and Diner for a while now. Albert sighed, adjusting his hat.

"You wanna get that dress now, pancakes?" he asked. She nodded, as he offered his hand to hold.

"Daddy? Do you think Milo's right? About you only good at being a courier?" she asked.

"I don't know," Albert sighed. "But he's right about one thing."

"What?"

"I sure as hell don't wanna be no bartender."

The two Sharps laughs cut through the morning air, as the residents of Cold Springs kept a careful distance away from the family.

* * *

"Hold still please Eliza dear, I just need to finish this last measurement," chimed Mrs Bonney, holding a length of tape across her arm.

"Okay," Eliza replied. She hated being measured. It was the worst part about getting new clothes. She silently thanked that she was poor, so she didn't have to come to Mrs Bonney's Boutique very often. Her perfume stung her nose.

"Oh Eliza. I remember when you first came in here. My, you've grown since then," the elderly tailor remarked.

"She's uh...four foot five. I think she's grown two inches in the last year," stated her father proudly, watching from the corner.

"Hmm…yes, I think I have something in your size, Eliza. And I have it in your favorite color too! Pretty pink!"

Eliza's eyes shot wide open. "NO!" she exclaimed, startling the elderly Mrs Bonney, nearly knocking her over. Albert raised an eyebrow. Eliza blushed.

"I mean, pink isn't my favorite color...anymore. Please Mrs Bonney, anything but pink," Eliza pleaded.

"Well...what do you have in mind?" she asked.

Eliza thought to herself. She looked over to her father. Then back to Mrs Bonney.

"Do you have anything in black?"

* * *

Eliza skipped happily down the sidewalk, adorned in her brand new dress. It was a lighter shade of black, almost a grey. There were no needless frills or flowery decorations. She liked how she looked in it- mysterious and intimidating, like her dad.

"Black was a good choice," remarked her father. "Bright colors draw too much attention. Makes you easy to spot."

"Yeah. But Mrs Bonney said it looks 'dull and drab,'" Eliza spoke.

"So? That just means you have to be exciting," replied Albert. "I'm going to town hall. Here." He handed her a small sack of caps. "Run down to the Doctor's office and pick up some Med-X. When you're done, meet me at town hall."

"Okay."

"And say hello to Dr. Chang for me," reminded Albert.

"What about Claire?" asked Eliza.

"What about her?"

"She's always looking at you funny, an' asking about you. D'ya want to say hello to her too?"

Albert smiled, pretending not to hear her as he walked off.

"See ya later pancakes," he called.

* * *

Eliza had been in the doctor's office more times than she could count, either from buying medical supplies, or helping her injured father into the emergency room.

She pushed open the doors of the doctor's office to be greeted immediately by Claire Chang.

"Well howdy there, Eliza!" Claire exclaimed.

Claire was Dr. Chang's eldest daughter, who was employed as his receptionist, and sometimes his nurse. She was also the prettiest girl in Cold Springs. She wore thin black glasses, and wore her hair short. Ever since Eliza met her, she had started keeping her hair short as well. Eliza liked Claire, as she was much nicer than her grumpy old father, Dr. Chang. She often discussed first-aid and medicine with her. After all, it was Claire who had taught her basic first-aid.

"Hi Claire. Can I get four Med-X's please?" asked Eliza politely.

"Sure thing, sweetheart," she said, as she went to fetch the medicine. "Is...is your daddy around?" Claire asked tentatively from underneath the counter.

"He's at town hall, looking for a new job. He's not gonna be a courier anymore," Eliza replied.

"O-oh! Well, uh, tell him we're always looking for, uh, help around the office!" Claire said.

"He's ain't very good at doctor stuff though…" Eliza said unsurely.

Claire giggled a little, placing the Med-X on the counter. "No, probably not. Not like you, right?" Claire laughed. "I like your dress, by the way. Is it new?"

Eliza blushed. "Yeah. Daddy just bought it for me."

"You're a lucky girl, Eliza," Claire sighed. "Alright, well that's four Med-X's, so that'll be a hundred and twenty caps."

"Oh," said Eliza, as her heart sank. She counted the caps in her hand. "I only have 'nuff for three Med-X's."

Claire cautiously looked behind her, where the operating room was.

"How about this," she whispered. "Go ahead and take the fourth one. I won't tell my dad. Sound good?"

Eliza nodded, smiling.

"Okay. But, in exchange, your daddy has to stop by and see me for a...checkup. Okay?" winked Claire.

"Okay!" whispered Eliza. "Thanks Claire!" she said, as she turned to leave.

"Tell your daddy I hope to see him soon!" she called. "I mean...not that he should always be coming here...tell him his health is important! No, wait…"

"Should I just tell him, 'hi?'"

Claire blushed. "That would be nice."

Eliza waved goodbye and stepped out of the doctors office. Claire sure was nice.

* * *

The Sharp family made it a habit not to visit Cold Springs Hall often. It was a crowded, busy place, usually stuffed to the brim with people, a large portion of them being chest-thumping bureaucrats; the two things Albert hated the most. People, and politicians.

The walls were a sickly color of blue, and the air was pungent with the smell of bleach and ink. Somewhere in the building, over the talk of airheaded desk-jockeys, Eliza could hear the faint sounds of construction.

As Eliza walked through the building looking for her father, she caught stares from numerous adults. A young girl alone in town hall was an unwelcome sight, ever since the bit of scandal that occurred with the last mayor. "Another reason to hate the government," her father would say.

Standing at the front desk of the employment and assignment office was her father, in the middle of harsh conversation with the receptionist, Sally Meachum. Eliza walked up to her father, prodding his leg.

"I got the Med-X," Eliza told him.

"Fine. Thanks," Albert said, not really paying attention. He was rather tense, and seemed to be slightly distressed. "Sally, there has to be something available!"

"I'm sorry Albert, I'm trying my best here, but employment is hard to come by lately. Have you talked to Milo? I hear he's hiring," said Sally, looking through her files.

"Yeah. He ain't," Albert snapped. Eliza's heart sank.

"What about the Ruth Cattle Company?" Albert asked. The Ruth Cattle Company was the biggest ranching company in the Reno area. They bred the finest Brahmin east of California. The Ruth Company employed a large portion of the Cold Springs workforce, making it a valuable asset to the town's economy. They also supplied the town with Grade-A beef. Not that the Sharps could afford it most of the time.

"You want to work as a farmhand? That's pocket money."

"No, Sally," Albert stated, annoyed. "Didn't they have an opening on their security team?"

"Not anymore. I think they just filled up their last spot with some famous gun from Sun Valley."

"Who?! Do I know this guy?"

"Floyd Clifton? They call him 'Cool Hand Clifton.' He's a big deal in Sun Valley apparently."

"No. I never heard of fucking 'Cool Hand Clifton,'" fumed Albert. "Who the hell is he?"

"I don't know. But Aaron Ruth seemed to be really sold on him."

"Christ. That's how it is in this business," grumbled Albert. "You kill one guy, and suddenly every punk with a gun's trying to make a name for themselves…"

Sally shrugged. "I wouldn't know, Albert." Eliza watched as she shuffled through some documents. "Have you considered looking for work in New Reno? It's just forty minutes away if you hop on the caravan trail."

"What am I gonna do in Reno? Bounce clubs? Enforce for the crime families? It's a cesspool," ranted Albert.

"Well, there's always the Marquis De Reno."

Eliza's eyes shot up in panic as she heard the name. Two years earlier, her father, having been persuaded by a fellow courier, decided to try his hand in the New Reno's shady boxing scene, having been assured it was easy money. Eliza remembered the day he came wobbling home from a fight with broken fingers, his face bloated and scarred, barely able to see. His opponent had hidden thick lead plates underneath his gloves. Her father won the fight, but was subjected to five rounds of continuous punishment before he could knock the cheater out. The next day, he woke up with a vicious headache and could barely move out of bed. He made two hundred caps.

Eliza tugged on her father's duster, shaking her head silently in desperation. Albert recognised the fear in his daughter's eyes very well. He turned back to Sally.

"No. No more prize-fighting. Never again."

"Just saying, you'd win every time," remarked Sally.

Suddenly, a loud whistle shrieked from behind them, and a blaring, heavily accented voice whooped excitedly.

"Goddamnit, is that Albert 'The Apache' Sharp I see before my eyes?!" cried the gleeful voice. The Sharps turned around to stand face to face with the mayor of Cold Springs himself, Bill Sutter.

Mayor Sutter was dressed in a hideous brown suit and a comically large white hat. A signature cigar was stuck firmly between his yellow teeth. He was a large man, taller than Albert by a head. Albert's hands looked small in Bill's gorilla fists, as the mayor grabbed it in delight, shaking it vigorously.

"Well I'll be a son of a bitch! It ain't everyday Cold Spring's most famous gun graces our doors! How ya been, Al?" laughed the mayor. He made a motion to Sally for her to leave.

Eliza had never seen a thinner, more pursed smile on her father's face, as if it physically hurt him to pretend to be sociable with the most powerful man in town.

"Bill. How are you?" he asked politely. "How's your son?" Eliza caught a familiar trace of malice in his voice. The loud Mayor didn't seem to notice as he exploded in laughter.

"Oh he's a tough son of a bitch, just like his daddy!" laughed Bill Sutter. "He's a fighter, that kid. Y'all better watch out Al! You might meet him out there in the wastes someday, and you might have yourself a proper gunfight!" Eliza felt the tips of her ears burn.

"Yeah, I'd be happy to," Albert muttered. Bill Sutter laughed once more, slapping Albert on the back.

"You ol' rascal! Ha!" Sutter said. "Y'all should come have dinner at the ranch sometime. And you an' me Al, we can go shooting. Maybe I teach you a thing or two, huh?"

"I'll take a rain check."

"Oh! Speaking of which, I wanna show you something I know you'd like..." said the mayor, reaching behind his coat. He pulled out the largest, shiniest gun Eliza had ever seen in her whole life. Her eyes widened as Bill proudly displayed it to her father, only a few inches away from her face.

"Ain't it a beauty? Got it as a gift from my good friend Mr Bishop in New Reno. Kicks like a wild Deathclaw. Kills like one too," he commented, flashing the piece in front of a thoroughly unimpressed Albert. So too, was Eliza. While all of the Sharps guns were beaten up and weathered from years of killing, Bill Sutter's gun was clean and sparkling.

"It's great, Bill," commented Albert tiredly. "Probably hard to clean. Would you mind not waving it in front of my daughter's face?"

The mayor looked down in surprise, as if he hadn't noticed Eliza. "Oh! Sorry there little lady," he chuckled, putting the gun away. He bent over to look her in the eye. "How are you, Elizabeth?"

Eliza suddenly felt like barfing again.  _No one_  called her Elizabeth. She pursed her lips.

"I'm fine, Mr. Sutter, thank's for asking," she answered. The mayor gave her a condescending wink. He stood back up.

"The Sharp family, all in the same place, here in my humble hall. What brought you down from the hill, Al?" asked the obnoxious mayor

"I'm looking for work, actually."

Bill Sutter looked as if he'd been slapped in the face. "Wait, wait, wait. Don't tell me you're retiring from couriering!"

"That's the plan," stated Albert.

The Mayor spat on the floor impetuously. "Now that just ain't right. Ol' Al Sharp. The legend of Nevada, 'The Apache,' ain't running gun no more?'. He turned to Eliza. "You know what an 'Apache' is sweetheart?"

Eliza shook her head.

"It's this big fucking pre-war vertibird. Had all types of missiles and guns and such. Nobody fucks with the Apache. Same way nobody fucks with your daddy. Your daddy is a killer!" remarked Bill proudly. A vein popped on Albert's forehead as he continued to feign a smile.

"Bill, look, I'm just tryna' take care of my daughter. I'd like to spend more time with her, you know how it is," Albert reasoned.

Bill sighed. "Well shucks, I get it. No man can keep doing what you do forever. Especially you, Al. You done walked hell's half-acre." The mayor put out his cigar on a nearby ashtray, and picked up the files behind Sally's desk.

"Let's see, let's see. What do you wanna do Al? What's a good job for you?" said Bill, thumbing through papers. "Let's see...Ah! Ruth Cattle Company needs a few farmhands. Hell, you can start tomorrow. I'll put in a word with Aaron Ruth." Aaron Ruth was the son of Joe Ruth, founder of the Ruth Cattle Company. Aaron ran the local Cold Springs Branch. Another bureaucrat.

"I'm not shovelling brahmin shit for fifty caps a week, Bill," snapped Albert. "Can't you talk to him about getting me on the security team?"

"Ooh, no can do, Al," Bill said, shaking his head condescendingly. "Last spot's been taken up by ol' Cool Hand Clifton outta Sun Valley. You heard of him haven't you?"

"Yes," groaned Albert.

"The kid is fast! Might even be fast as you, Al. I had him and Aaron Ruth down by the range the other day. I tell ya, the kid is a monster with a pistol."

"Yeah, that's great. So you're telling me there's no work available?" asked Albert, dumbfounded.

Bill raised a condescending finger. "I didn't say that. We got plenty of work available for someone of your...talents." He put down the files and picked up a separate pile.

"We got a couple of bounties available. Bad men, good rewards," said the mayor, enticingly.

"No. I don't do bounties no more. Get Floyd Clifton to do it."

"Why not?"

"I ain't huffing it all over the damn wasteland, trying to hunt down someone that don't wanna be hunted. Nothing more dangerous than a wanted man," Albert retorted.

"Well, we got some nice easy ones for you, Al," remarked Bill. Eliza felt a very sharp feeling between her eyes. She clenched her fist. She understood her father's sentiment about the Sutter's now.

"We gotta couple bandits who done been terrorising travellers coming in and out of Cold Springs. Bunch of rapists and murderers. You ever hear of a varmint named Purple Randy?" asked Bill.

The Sharps exchanged a worried look with each other.

"We...I mean I actually...I might have solved that problem for you already, Bill," mumbled Albert sheepishly.

"You killed Purple Randy?" Bill asked in disbelief.

There was a tense moment of silence. Suddenly, Bill slapped his knee in delight, breaking out in laughter.

"I knew it! You  _do_  still got it, Apache!" he laughed. "Well, that's great, Al. All I need is the body as proof, and then you went and earned yourself a thousand caps!"

Eliza's excitement at the price of Purple Randy's head quickly turned into sour dismay as she realised the Sharps didn't have a corpse to show as proof, having fed the bandits corpse to the mole-rats. Her heart sank into her stomach. Albert rubbed the back of his neck nervously.

"How much...of his body do you need?" asked Albert uncomfortably.

"A head, a hand, a finger. As long as you didn't, say, turn him into ash. But you don't use energy weapons, do you?" Eliza and Albert looked at each other worriedly.

"Yeah...no...but, uh…" stammered Albert.

Eliza spoke up. "Do you accept Mole-rat poop?"

Bill looked confused. "Huh?"

Albert clamped her mouth shut with his hand. "She's joking. No, uh, I actually...used my laser pistol this time, so…" He made a 'poof' gesture with his hands. "Just ash."

The mayor put on the biggest, shit-eating, condescending smile Eliza had seen in her life. "Well, I can't pay you for ash, Al."

Bill dumped the files unceremoniously back onto Sally's desk. He sighed.

"Listen, I'd like to help you, Al' but…" Bill shrugged unapologetically. "My hands are tied."

Albert nodded morosely. Utterly dejected the Sharps were just about to walk out the door before Bill Sutter spoke up again.

"Alright, you got me Al!" cried the mayor, throwing up his hands in mock surrender. "Listen, I probably shouldn't tell you about this, but I figure you're cut out for it,"

The Sharps looked back at the mayor in disdain.

"What is it?" asked Albert.

The mayor scratched under his hat thoughtfully. "Well...I don't rightly know, Al. But...Floyd Clifton, came down from Sun Valley, you know that, right?"

Albert nodded.

"Well he says down in Sun Valley, there's some talk going around about this big thing with the Mojave Express...says they're calling up only the best couriers for this job."

"I told you, I ain't working for the Mojave Express no more."

"You're gonna be singing a different tune when you hear this Al. Apparently, this job...it's so dangerous, and so important, the Mojave Express is offering 5000 caps for a successful delivery. The way he made it sound, even Floyd was 'fraid of taking it."

Albert looked quizzically at Sutter. The mayor smiled mischievously.

"That caught your attention, huh? Listen, it's probably nothing but if I were you, I'd check it out."

The grizzled courier scratched the back of his head. "So where do I go to hear more about this...job?"

Bill Sutter's eyes flashed. "New Reno. That's all I know. That's where all the couriers are heading."

Albert nodded slowly. "I'll consider it." He took Eliza's hand. "Come on pancakes, let's go."

The Sharp family were just about to leave, before Bill Sutter shouted out one last thing as they walked out the door.

"And if it ain't real, you know Reno's always looking for more boxers!" cackled the mayor.

 _Whoosh_.

Before Bill knew it, he was down on the floor, holding his bleeding nose, stunned. He looked up at the 'Apache,' standing over him, rubbing his knuckles. Eliza, in the doorway with her arms crossed.

"No thanks," he said. "It'd be too easy." And with that last remark, the Sharps hurried out of the building, leaving town hall for good.

* * *

_And that's Chapter Two. In the next chapter, the family takes a trip to the biggest little city in the world._

_Are people going to be mad if I put cars in this story? I mean it's reasonable to believe that people would be fixing up cars at this point. It's pretty much fact that the NCR is using cars. I don't know. I ain't much for breakin' lore._

_Tune in next time._


	3. Family Matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The caravan trail to New Reno hits an unexpected snag.

Chapter Three: Family Matters

Audio Enhancement

"Hurt" by Johnny Cash.

"Triggernometry" by Billy Elm and Woody Jackson.

* * *

"He's been awful quiet," Gabe whispered to his partner, Thomas.

"If I were you, I'd leave him be. You ain't worth his mettle."

Gabe frowned. He didn't much care for unsociable travellers.

Gabe and Thomas ran the Caravan Supply Trail between Cold Springs and New Reno, transporting goods and commodities to and from the two cities. Oftentimes, they'd take alongside them a few stragglers for a reasonable fee; folks looking for safe passage to New Reno, travelling on the backs of Brahmin.

The stranger had shown up unannounced that morning, seeking passage on the Trail to New Reno. Gabe had explained to him that they couldn't spare any Brahmin due to large order of goods placed by the New Reno establishments, and all animals were fully packed. That's when he handed Gabe a sack of caps, offering to reimburse him for a few lost supplies. So they took a few boxes of grain off a Brahmin and gave him a saddle.

He wasn't much of a travelling companion, that was for sure. The caravan guards were more conversational than him, and most of them were two-bit, brick-headed mercs. Gabe was used to having a nice rapport with passengers, but this one was silent and withdrawn. As they navigated the dusty roads through the narrow mountains, the man had yet to say a single word since he joined.

"Who the hell is this guy, anyway?" Gabe muttered under his breath.

"He's some famous gun, I heard about him while I was in that bar. He's a real cowboy apparently," said Thomas, scratching his beard.

"Why do you think he's on his way to New Reno?"

"Don't know. I wouldn't ask."

Gabe turned around to glance at the stranger, scanning the mountaintops, his eyes, quick and ever-moving, robotically assessing his surroundings. Suddenly, his eyes met Gabes. Gabe turned around quickly.

"They call him the 'Apache.'"

* * *

_That morning_

While Albert stood at the mirror in the Sharp family bathroom, trimming his beard, Eliza was just outside in the living room, packing his travel gear.

A courier tended to pack light, only bringing a handful of supplies. Too much gear tends to weigh you down, so a courier must rely on his adaptability and know how to scavenge supplies for himself while he's on the road. Albert's gear was simple. A map, a compass, a pocket watch, a pad and pen, a canteen of water, a candy bar, a small sack of caps, a hunting knife, some extra ammunition and his pistol. Eliza carefully took each item and stuffed them into Alberts dusty brown backpack.

"I'm done!" she called to her father. Albert grunted a 'thanks' in response.

"Did you remember to pack the stimpaks?" asked Albert.

Eliza cursed silently. "Just a minute…" she said, joining her father in the bathroom. He paused to stop shaving while she retrieved the medicine kit from behind the bathroom mirror.

"Just two. And some bandages," he told her, continuing to shave. In his distraction, he nicked himself with his razor.

"Fuck!" he yelled, washing off the cut with some water. Eliza squinted at him.

"You say that word a lot. What does it mean?"

"What word?"

"Fuck. It's a swear, right?"

Albert dropped his razor in shock, having never heard his girl curse before. "Jesus. Yeah, it's a swear. Don't say that in front of other people."

"Like pussy?"

"Shh! Yeah. Don't say that. Especially that," said Albert, wiping the foam off his chin. "Don't swear, pancakes. Kids shouldn't swear."

"Jake Sutter swears all the time."

"Again with Jake fucking Sutter," bemoaned Albert, rolling his eyes. "You met his daddy. You really think that little shit's any different?"

"I wanna hit him."

"Who? Jake Sutter?"

"Yeah."

"Fine. But just once," relented Albert.

"Can I hit his daddy too?" asked Eliza.

"No. Only I can hit his daddy."

"Why do you get to do things that I can't do?" Eliza asked innocently.

"Because…" Albert trailed off, as he rinsed off the rest of his face. He looked at his daughter's reflection in the mirror as it looked up innocently back at him. He smiled. "Look at you. You're growing up so damn quick."

Eliza looked curiously at her reflection in the mirror. It was true, she was two inches taller than she was a few months ago. It made her feel proud, even though she was still one of the shortest in her class. She liked how she looked though. She had her father's eyes- a deep hazel, shifty and catlike. She had his hair too- the Sharps all had jet black hair. Someone once told her that her family had 'latino' blood. She didn't know what it meant, but what she understood was that she was always slightly darker than the other children. Eliza looked back to her father. The resemblance was uncanny.

"Do I look more like momma or you?" asked Eliza. Albert's smile disappeared. Eliza noticed her father always clammed up when she asked him about her mother.

"Are you done packing my gear?" he asked, changing the subject as he walked into the living room. He eyed his bag, resting on the couch. A separate, slightly smaller pink backpack lay next to it.

"What's with the second bag?"

Eliza shifted uncomfortably. Albert turned to her.

"Eliza?"

"Well…" she began, as she looked down at the floor. "I was thinkin'..."

Alberts eyes narrowed.

"No," he stated.

"I didn't say anything!"

"I know what you want. And no. Unpack your shit, you're staying here," ordered Albert, grabbing his bag off the couch.

"But dad, I jus' wanna go to New Reno is all! Maybe jus' this one time, I can-"

"No."

"No, that's not fair! You said you wanted to spend more time with me, an' then-"

"That's completely different."

"Is not!"

"Hey!" Albert snapped. He raised a finger threateningly at Eliza. "Shut it down," he warned.

Normally a tense stare like the one Albert was giving his daughter right now was enough to keep her from misbehaving. But today, Eliza seemed determined to speak her mind. She stomped her foot in anger.

"You promised! You said you'd quit bein' a courier an' you'd spend more time with me!"

"And I meant it. But it doesn't mean I'm gonna start taking you along with me on jobs," Albert sighed, rubbing the back of his head. "Look, if this thing is legit, we're looking at 5000 caps. After that, I promise, it's the last job, and I'll quit."

"I don't want you to leave! I want to come with you!"

"Well you ain't. The wasteland is too dangerous for a little girl. You remember Purple Randy and his friend?"

Eliza nodded sourly.

"Well there's a hundred of folks just like 'em for every rock between here and New Reno," said Albert, slinging his pack over his back. "If this thing is legit, I'll send someone down to Cold Springs to tell you how long I'll be gone. For now, you just stay here."

"There's nothing to do here!"

"There's plenty to do here. You got your books, you got your dolls…"

"I hate those dolls!" screamed Eliza. "I wanna go with you!"

"Eliza, come on," pleaded Albert. He searched through the couch cushions. "What about Mr. Bun? Huh?" he said, grabbing one of Eliza's stuffed animals.

Mr. Bun was a pink stuffed elephant that Eliza happened to be very fond of. He was old and raggedy, but she loved him all the same. Even though she tried not to show it in this very moment.

"I don't like Mr. Bun anymore," she mumbled softly.

"You don't like Mr. Bun anymore? No?"

Eliza shook her head.

"No? Fine. Then I'll just take him with me." Albert walked out of the cabin, Eliza's toy stuffed under his armpit.

She whined, stomping her feet. "You're the worst! Give him back!" she said, running out after him.

"I thought you don't like him anymore," teased Albert, holding the elephant over his head. Eliza jumped frantically, trying to steal her friend back.

"Leggo!" she yelled, punching Albert with her tiny fists. A small tear came running down her cheek.

"You want him back?" asked Albert. He wound up his arm, and threw the tiny stuffed toy through the front door, into the house. "There! You got him!"

Eliza gave her father a look of pure spite, and ran back into the house. A few seconds later, she ran back out, Mr. Bun in one hand, and her backpack in the other. She stood in front of Albert defiantly.

"For the love of…" Albert groaned. "I'm gonna count down from three. If you're ass isn't in the house at zero, I'm gonna put you through the fucking wall."

"You can't. Keep me. Here!" whined Eliza, stomping her foot.

" _YES I CAN!"_ barked Albert. " _THREE!"_

"What if you get hurt? I can do first-aid, an' I can carry your stuff, an'-"

" _TWO!_ "

"I promise, I'll be really quiet! And I won't be bad, I promise!"

" _ONE!_ "

"Please daddy! Just this one time!"

" _THAT'S IT! YOU'RE DONE!_ " roared Albert, grabbing Eliza by the scruff of her neck as she yelped in pain. Eliza struggled and kicked the whole way, screaming at her father as he forcefully dragged her back into the house. Exasperated, he threw Eliza back in, as she collapsed to the floor. But Eliza wasn't done, as she dusted herself off and stood back up.

" _I hate you!_ " she screamed, her face a teary mess.

" _WELL I LOVE YOU, YOU FUCKING BRAT!_ " responded Albert in kind. And he shut the door and that was the last Eliza saw of her father that day.

* * *

As the trail traveled through the mountains, Albert had some time to reflect on his actions.

Albert never claimed to be good with kids. In all honesty, he should have never been a parent.

All he could see was Eliza's sobbing face, as she screamed out the words: "I hate you." It made his stomach churn. Not a lot could do that to him these days.

"Stupid...stupid…" Albert muttered to himself. What kind of man lays a hand on his daughter? What kind of man calls his daughter a 'fucking brat?'

Looking back, he could have been a little nicer. She was right. It wasn't right to keep her locked up at home. But what was the alternative? Bring her along? No. Albert was right in his decision. But as he replayed the incident in his head, he couldn't help but feel like a jerk. He made a mental note to buy Eliza a gift from New Reno.

He sighed to himself. Times like this, he sure did miss his wife. She didn't know how to hurt anybody.

A loud stream of distant gunfire interrupted his thoughts. He scrambled for his gun. Gabe laughed.

"Calm down, partner. Look," he said, pointing down into the valley below them. The Caravan trail came to a halt as the travellers stopped to check the commotion.

Albert looked down at the small figures in the valley. Three men with standard issue service rifles, dressed in military uniforms. He recognized their stiff motions, and their trigger discipline as the nuances of a soldier. Next to them was a dead Coyote.

"Is that..." Thomas squinted at them. "Is that the NCR?"

"Damn right it is."

"Why are they all the way out here?"

"Why do you think?" laughed the grizzled man. "Annexation. You didn't catch the whole parade of them march into New Reno? I'm surprised there aren't more of 'em out here."

Albert watched as the soldiers below him hooted and hollered, laughing as the celebrated their kill. Gabe tisked.

"Pretty soon, all of Nevada's gonna be under NCR rule. Soon as they square things out in New Vegas," he added.

"You really think they'll annex out New Reno?"

"Hell, they might as well have. They'll start with the west most settlements first. Cold Springs, Sun Valley. New Reno. Then New Vegas," Gabe sighed.

"Alright, let's get a move on. Let's see if we can beat em to it."

As the caravan began to move again, Albert glared down at the soldiers. His trigger finger itched.

* * *

The dry sun of the Nevada desert beat down on the travellers as they crossed through the dusty valley, wilting the collars of Gabe and Thomas. A portly caravan guard had slung his rifle to fan himself with his hat, as beads of sweat rained down his forehead. Strangely, Albert Sharp seemed to be unaffected, even in his dark brown duster.

"Goddamn, this sun is killer," Thomas complained, splashing a little water over his forehead from his canteen.

"Don't wet the merchandise," Gabe warned. "And this? This is nothin'. Back in Arizona, the sun would cook the Brahmins alive. Dropped 'em dead in the road."

"You know they got working cars in California now? NCR's gotta whole fuckin' armored division of trucks and what-not," said the younger man, wiping the sweat from his eyes.

Gabe shook his head. "Ain't too surprised to be honest. Hell, if they can fix up Vertibirds for the President they can get a few trucks up and running."

"Yeah, but...just imagine. In a few months, if the NCR takes over Nevada, sooner or later we'll be cruising along in fixed up pickups, riding in style. Not humpin' it on foul-smellin' Brahmin," said Thomas dreamily.

"And who's gonna clear out the roads for these cars? You? The NCR?" asked Gabe. "And if the NCR does take over Nevada, don't expect a fuckin' handout. Expect the opposite. First thing they're gonna do is take out the local caravan businesses and replace 'em with the fuckin' Crimson Caravan."

"Ain't that a good thing?" asked Thomas

"Sure, if you're an NCR Citizen. But we ain't. And when they  _do_  make us citizens, they'll tax us out the nose, so it won't matter anyhow. Trust me, the NCR is nothing but trouble."

Gabe turned around to look at Albert. "No offense, chief."

"I ain't NCR," Albert replied drly.

"Oh yeah? Then why you wearing that ranger armor?" asked Gabe.

Silence. Gabe chuckled heartfully. "That's right partner, I know a ranger when I see one. So, you in the military?"

"I resigned," said Albert, pulling his duster over his black armor.

Thomas raised an eyebrow at him. "Didn't know you could do that."

"I was persuasive."

"You resigned,  _and_  they let you keep their shit? Doesn't sound like NCR to me," laughed Gabe.

"I was very persuasive." Suddenly, Albert felt a small nudge from the large wooden crate packed behind him. He frowned.

"What's in this crate?" Albert asked.

"Guns, ammo, courtesy of New Reno Arms. You know Reno loves their guns," answered Thomas.

"It's actually dead mail. Turns out it was an accidental order placed by that fumbling mayor, so we're bringing it back," Gabe added.

"Yeah, that doesn't surprise me," muttered Albert.

"You know, New Reno Arms doesn't need to know about that," began Thomas. "We could always take 'em ourselves."

"You're gonna rip off the NRA? You wanna fuck with the Bishops? What, you don't like your kneecaps the way they are?"

"They won't notice a few guns...and I saw the shit they got in there, Gabe. It's some nice shit. And I know cowboy over there can rack 'em up," said Thomas, motioning towards Albert.

"Fool, we got guns. And guards," spoke Gabe. "We don't need NRA guns! The bandits up here, all they got are fuckin' sticks and rocks and such anyhow."

"You never know what's gonna happen in these hills. Hell, last time-"

_BANG_

Before Thomas could finish his sentence, he was thrown off his Brahmin suddenly as a deafening shot rang out from above. He fell to the ground, his head in a thousand bloody pieces. A caravan guard screamed:

"BANDITS! SCATTER!"

"Fucking sticks and rocks my ass!" yelled another guard, before a round came and pierced her throat. She fell to the ground gurgling.

Suddenly, a hailstorm of bullets came raining down on the Supply Trail, cutting through the travellers like butter, as the unprepared guards were riddled with gunfire. His instincts kicking in, Albert leapt off his Brahmin quickly and took cover behind a rock, drawing his pistol. He watched as the caravan guards were picked apart by the attackers. A stray shot hit the toe of a Brahmin, and it hollered in pain. Spooked, the Brahmins began to scatter in panic. He heard a voice call out from above.

"They're panicking! Kill 'em before they run off with the loot!"

Albert watched as the dumb animals were shot down as the bandits concentrated their fire on them. They collapsed on the road, bloody. Albert looked over. Sitting back against a dead Brahmin was Gabe, clutching his bleeding stomach.

"Psst!" Albert whispered, trying to get his attention. "Hey! Hey, you!"

Gabe looked back at him weakly.

"Where are they?" Albert whispered to the dying man.

Gabe slowly raised a wavering finger up at the mountain, before another shot rang out and put Gabe out of his misery.  _Crack_. Albert watched for the muzzle flash. Up on the far ridge, he spotted three figures, reloading their rifles. Too far away to get a clean shot with his pistol.

Albert cursed, scanning his surroundings, until his eyes focused onto the dead Brahmin, about twelve feet in front of him, and the large crate of weapons, still strapped to it's back. He peered over the rock. The bandits were still busy reloading. Albert took a deep breath and scattered out from behind his cover

"Hey!" a voice called from above. The bandits took aim and fired on Albert, as he scampered towards the Brahmin. Bits of dirt flew into his face as he ran, as the bullets hit the ground. He slid into cover behind the dead animal, breathing loudly. He reached up to grab the crate, when another bullet sailed over his hand.

"Are you crazy? Don't damage the fucking loot!" yelled another voice.

Albert took a deep breath once more, and quickly pulled the large crate off of the Brahmin, as several more bullets flew overhead.

He grunted, as he brought it to the ground. It was strangely heavy. And he swore, he almost heard a yelp from inside the crate when it dropped.

Albert pulled his knife from his duster, and placed it under the lid. He pried open the box effortlessly, and looked inside.

Albert had seen many a terrifying thing in his life, but he was never as shocked as he was as he saw the contents of the box.

There were no guns in the crate. No ammunition either. There was nothing in the crate, except for a tearful little girl, clutching her knees in fear. The girl's eyes stared at Albert in terror. He looked back at her in disbelief.

It was Eliza.

* * *

_In the next chapter, Albert tries his hand at diplomacy, and the family bumps into an NCR patrol._


	4. The Diplomatic Approach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliza joins Albert on his travels. The Sharp family meets an unwelcoming NCR patrol.

Chapter Four: The Man-Out-There

Audio Enhancement

"Crawl Space," from the Breaking Bad OST.

"Caroline," by Noah Gundersen

"The Electrician," by The Walker Brothers.

"Apple Blossom," by The White Stripes.

* * *

Suffice to say, Albert was silently livid.

" _Why the fuck are you here_?" whispered Albert angrily. Eliza was nothing but tears.

"I'm s-sorry!"

" _Keep your fucking voice down before I punch you in your goddamn throat! By god, I should do that anyhow, I told you to stay at home!_ " he whispered forcefully.

Eliza began to blubber. "I-I-I-I-*gasp*-I-I-I-I…."

" _Shut up! Shut your fucking mouth!_ " he spat.

Eliza clamped her mouth shut with her hands, tears running over her fingers like a waterfall.

Albert quickly peered over the Brahmin. The dust had settled over the site of the caravan massacre. Guards lay strewn across the ground like discarded toys. Blood had painted the sand a thick, crimson color. The bandits had climbed down from the ridge, and were now walking towards their spoils in excited glee.

He turned back to his daughter.

"Where are the guns?" he whispered.

"T-t-t-they-they-t-t-they-they…" she tried to say. She hiccuped nervously.

" _Where are the fucking guns?_ "

She barely sputtered it out over her stilted breathing. "I-I-I t-threw them o-out!"

" _Why?!_ "

"T-t-t-there wa-wa-wa-wasn't any r-r-room f-f-f-f-"

" _Shut up!_ " he snapped. Eliza went back to covering her mouth. She let out a long muffled squeal into her hands.

Albert checked his jacket pockets for extra ammunition. He found one full mag. Counting the one already loaded, he had twenty-four shots. Against three bandits? Maybe, if he caught them off guard. But considering the initial bang he heard at the start of the massacre, these fellas were most likely carrying some heavy-duty stuff. And, he wasn't even sure there were only three. There could be more coming up over the hills.

"Fuck!" Albert whispered. There was only one alternative left, and it was the one that Albert was the worst at. Diplomacy.

He made a harsh gesture to Eliza to be silent. He sighed, taking a deep breath, and then called out:

"HEY!"

Albert heard the sound of rifles being unslung hastily. A voice rang out in reply.

"You there! Behind that dead animal! You best come out right now, and we'll kill you quick!"

"I ain't coming out! I'm asking if you want to surrender!" Albert yelled back. Eliza looked confused.

The men behind them laughed heartily. Another voice spoke up. "And why the hell would we surrender? We done killed every gun here, you should be surrendering!"

"You're outgunned!"

"Like hell we are! These are .308 hunting rifles, my friend! Unless you got a tank back there, you ain't outgunning shit!

"I got a 5.56mm anti-personnel weapon back here, courtesy of the NCR, by way of New Reno fucking Arms!" Albert yelled back, flipping off the safety on his weathered 10mm pistol.

"Bullshit!" called another voice. "You woulda used it by now!"

"Wrong! I ain't a guard, I don't give a shit about these goods! In fact, I'm gonna make you a deal!"

"What deal?"

"You get all of these supplies, all the merchandise. In exchange, you let me go on my merry way, and we both forget we met each other. Deal?"

"If you really are New Reno Arms, you're gonna send the Bishops down here to wipe us out! No way we're letting you out of here alive!" called the voice.

"Do you know who I am?!" spat Albert. "I'm the 'Apache' Albert Sharp! I know you've heard of me, assholes!"

There was a short silence. Albert listened as the men muttered between themselves.

"Well?" he called out.

"Yeah. Yeah, we heard of you," replied the voice, a little quieter.

"And who are you?" asked Albert.

"You're speaking to Billy Blue and the Yella' Twins of the Colors Gang! We own these fucking hills!"

"Jesus Christ…" Albert muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes. "Colors Gang, huh? You know Purple Randy?" he called out.

Another short silence. "Yeah we know Randy! What about him?"

"I'm the one who killed his ass!"

"Bullshit!"

"Tall, lanky fella with purple hair? I slit his fucking throat and fed him to mole rats!" spat Albert.

Albert waited for a reply. None came, so he called out to them.

"You got a choice. You drop your weapons, and put your hands way in the air. Me and my friend, we're gonna walk right past you until we're clear. Then, you can help yourself to the fucking Brahmin. Or, we can shoot it out! I could use one of those rifles of yours!"

"We got you outnumbered, you can't kill us!"

" _I'M THE APACHE MOTHERFUCKER, YOU AIN'T OUTNUMBERING SHIT!_ " Albert roared. " _So what's it gonna be?_!"

Albert tightened his grip around his pistol. Beside him, Eliza clutched onto his arm.

Suddenly, he heard the clattering sounds of rifles hitting the dirt.

"Alright, Sharp. You can pass," said the voice.

The courier cocked his gun.

* * *

Albert curiously inspected the hunting rifle he had taken off of Billy Blue's corpse. It was New Reno Arms, alright. Probably taken off some other caravan. He slung it over his shoulder, and proceeded to search their pockets.

From behind the dead Brahmin, little Eliza cautiously stuck her head up, her face still red from crying, and her stuffed elephant, Mr. Bun in her hands. She slowly climbed out from cover, and spotted the three bandits, dead in the road.

"Why'd you kill 'em if they gave up?" she asked.

"Because I could," Albert replied, stuffing some caps into his jacket. He stepped over the dead bodies of the bandits. "Let's go. We're leaving," he said, walking off.

Eliza frowned. "But…" she pointed to the road ahead. "Isn't New Reno that way?"

"We're not going to New Reno. I'm taking you home."

"No! You can't!" pleaded Eliza.

" _SHUT UP! OF COURSE I CAN!_ " Albert barked, making his daughter jump. "You almost died, you stupid, stupid girl!" he said, stomping the ground angrily with each word. "What the hell were you thinking?! Stowing away in a crate like that?!"

Eliza said nothing, only looking down in shame.

"What exactly was the plan? When were you going to get out of that crate? Huh?"

The scared little girl mumbled a inaudible reply, and shrugged. New tears were already starting to pool in her eyes. Albert threw up his hands in the air exasperatedly.

"You know a bullet almost hit the damn thing?" Albert reprimanded. "What if it hit you? Huh? You think you can perform first-aid on yourself, you idiot?"

Still, there was no answer from his frightened daughter. Frustrated, Albert kicked Billy's corpse violently, spraying a small amount of blood into the air. Eliza responded by bawling loudly, while her father fumed.

"Don't even fucking start with that! Don't even start!" he said, raising an accusatory finger at her. "You chose to be here, dammit!"

Eliza tried to stutter out a response over her rapid ventilation.

"I-I-I f-f-found t-t-t-the…"

" _STOP THAT!_ " Albert yelled, entirely at his wits end. "What did you find?"

Fearing more yelling, Eliza did not reply. Instead, she reached her trembling hands into her pocket, and pulled out a shiny object- a diamond encrusted ring.

Albert took one look at the object, and immediately cooled down. His breathing slowed, and the protruding veins in his head relaxed, as he stared at the tiny piece of jewellry in his daughter's fist. He took it from her hand, examining it. It was like the sky, reflected over the ocean- stars shining brightly in the blue haze.

"Where did you find this?" he demanded.

Silence.

" _Where did you find this?!"_

"U-Under your mattress," Eliza replied softly. "It belonged to mom, right?"

He squeezed it in his hand, as if he was afraid of it leaving his grasp for even a second. He closed his eyes, and in his mind, he saw her.

"So you know then?" Albert asked. Eliza nodded solemnly, pulling from her pocket, a tattered piece of paper.

"I found her note," she said quietly, handing the flimsy sheet to her father. "She made you promise. And you broke it."

Albert slipped the ring and the note into his duster. "You weren't meant to read this."

"But I did. An' now I know," Eliza replied, holding her ground. "Family means nobody gets left behind."

A tense minute of silence passed by. Finally, Albert broke the silence, slinging his new rifle over his shoulder. He turned back to his daughter.

"You do what I say, and you keep your mouth shut. And you better not get tired, because I ain't carrying you."

Eliza nodded excitedly

"I'll take you to New Reno. But after that, you're going straight home. Understood?"

Another enthusiastic nod. Albert sighed, motioning for her to move.

"Come on then, pancakes," said Albert, as he began his long walk to Reno.

And with blessing from her father, Eliza's tears dissipated, a she broke into an excited smile. She jumped over broken bone and bullet shells, skipping happily to her father. Her travels had just begun.

The courier had learned this lesson a hundred times. What's right for the family may not be what we think it should. But we know that it's right when we see them smile.

And when it came to private information, like notes from dead loved ones, well...somethings are better left unknown.

And so, the courier ventured out into the wastes on foot, this time, his daughter trailing eagerly behind.

* * *

" _Caroline my darlin', Caroline my sweet. If I married Caroline, so happy I would be._ "

A courier always travelled alone. They didn't have any partners or companions. Twice the feet meant twice the noise, and more noise meant a higher chance of being offed by some fiend.

To Albert, having his daughter with him on a run seemed entirely alien to him. As they passed through the mountainous roads to New Reno, he found himself checking his peripherals more often, scanning ridgelines for potential lines of fire. He kept his hand on his pistol, the holster unstrapped. Furthermore, he found himself looking back at Eliza every few seconds, to make sure she hadn't wandered off.

To her credit, Eliza was doing a good job of following directions. She jumped when Albert said 'jump,' she waited when Albert said 'wait,' and she hid when Albert said 'hide." However, Eliza sorely needed to work on keeping quiet. She was a young girl, who enjoyed singing and music. And usually, Albert liked to hear his daughter sing. But as they trudged through sand and dirt, the Courier felt peering eyes all around him, listening to the sound of fresh life, ripe for the taking, and it made him very paranoid.

" _Wouldn' need no whiskey, wouldn' need no wine. Wouldn' need much anythin' if Caroline was mine._ "

Albert turned suddenly to put his hand over his daughter's mouth, startling her, immediately hushing her up.

"Shut up."

"Ok," Eliza murmured. Albert removed his hand, and continued walking.

"Don't know why you're so happy," he grumbled. "This ain't fun and games."

"I'm bored is all," replied Eliza.

"Fuck you," Albert snapped. "We can go home if you want."

"No! I wanna go to New Reno!" exclaimed Eliza.

"Saying you're bored…" Albert rolled his eyes. "I suppose you think that shootout just now was damn exciting, huh?"

Eliza scowled. "No."

"Had you crying like a baby, didn't it?" he teased.

"I'm not a baby," she whined, kicking a little sand towards her father. Unfortunately for Eliza, the wind happened to catch the dust cloud at just the right moment, as it was sent flying back into her face. As she coughed, Albert couldn't help but smile to himself.

"And I guess that dirty lump of cotton just wanted to come along too, huh?"

Eliza blushed, as he clutched onto Mr. Bun. "He's not a dirty lump of cotton," she mumbled quietly, as she self-consciously stuffed him into her backpack.

"Why you wanna go to New Reno anyway? Ain't nothing there but whores and gangsters."

"I dunno," Eliza shrugged. "I never been anywhere but home. I wanna see what everything else is like."

"Look around you Eliza," Albert said, gesturing to the vast, dusty expanses around him. "Everything out here's keen on robbing, killing, or eating you. A little girl like you doesn't belong in the wasteland."

"But that's why you're out here, right? You make it safe. An' maybe if more people did that, the wasteland wouldn't have as many bad guys," Eliza reasoned.

"You sound just like Kimball," said Albert. "Did I ever tell you the saying, 'a leopard never changes its spots?' You know what that means?"

Eliza squinted in confusion. "What's a leopard?"

"...Doesn't matter. It means that bad guys are always gonna stay bad guys. And there's no other surefire way to get rid of bad guys than shooting them dead," Albert stated.

"Is that why you killed Billy Blue and the Yella' Twins?" questioned Eliza.

"I killed those yokels because they were a threat to us, and they needed to die."

"So…" Eliza scrunched her face up in confusion. "If someone's a threat to us, does that make 'em a bad person?"

"You're catching on, pancakes," Albert said, tapping his head. "That's how it works out here. Someone tries to fuck with you, you put 'em in the dirt."

"But doesn't that make you a bad guy?" asked Eliza.

"It makes me smart, that's what it makes me."

"Oh."

Eliza mulled over her father's words in tense silence. She looked at her father. He wasn't exactly a friendly-looking person, with his black hat, his black armor, his large gun and his constant scowl. She watched as his black boots trudged through the dirt.

"You're not a bad guy, right?" she asked tentatively.

Albert took a while to answer.

"Only when I need to be."

* * *

"Are we lost?"

"We're not lost. Be quiet."

The Sharp family was terribly lost. On foot, a trip from Cold Springs to New Reno took about an hour, not counting any inconveniences along the way. Albert and Eliza had now been walking for over three hours, and Eliza's feet were starting to ache. She groaned as she slowly trudged down the asphalt of the highway. Albert, on the other hand, never broke stride, as he consulted his maps.

"I think we're lost."

"We're not lost!" Albert fumed, his face turning red. "I've done this trail a hundred times. We're just...on a new route…"

Couriers weren't supposed to get lost, least of all Albert "The Apache" Sharp. Albert was known from the red mountains of Arizona to the shady sands of California for being able to find his way out of any conditions. You could drop the man in the middle of the Mojave desert in a sandstorm, and he'd still manage to find his way back home somehow. But today, Albert felt ashamed. Because he was terribly, terribly lost.

"Eliza...which map is this?" he asked, showing her the map.

"It's the map of the New Reno/Vegas area, just like you wanted," she answered.

"Really? Then why isn't Cold Springs on the map?" Albert asked accusingly.

Eliza went red. "It should be! That's the New Reno/Vegas map! It says so, you wrote it on the back!" she flustered.

He turned the map over to check the writing. He sighed, turning the map back over to Eliza.

"This says Navarro."

Eliza's face fell. "Oh."

"N-a-v-a-r-r-o. Not New Vegas," he added, showing her the writing.

"I'm sorry," Eliza said quietly.

Albert crumpled up the Navarro map. "Goddammit," he sighed, throwing the crushed up map to the ground.

"Are we lost?" asked Eliza innocently.

"Shut up!" Albert said, scanning his surroundings. "Keep a lookout for any signs or buildings. I think I'll be able to pinpoint where we are."

"There's a building up ahead!" Eliza exclaimed, pointing towards the end of the road.

Albert squinted ahead. In the distance, he could spot out a bright neon light. Albert reached into his backpack and grabbed his binoculars.

Sure enough, at the end of the road was a small, decrepit, two-story building. A sign was hung atop of it, in bright green letters:  _The_   _Doc Holliday Inn._ A neon animatronic of a waving cowboy winked goofily back at Albert.

"So there is. Good job, Eliza," he said, putting away his binoculars. "Maybe they have a map we can borrow."

Eliza felt her tummy rumble. "Maybe they have food," she added.

Albert gave her a playful shove. "Come on. Let's check it out."

* * *

Initially, the inn was alive with frenzy.

"Please, don't hurt my daughter!"

"Quiet, bitch! Or your daddy gets another one!"

Yet the room suddenly fell silent as the Sharp family walked in the door.

The interior Doc Holliday inn was a musty, dusty place, completely betraying its initial shiny, exterior welcome. The wood was starting to rot, and the paint was starting to peel. Tables and chairs lay strewn across the ground, as if multiple struggles had occurred. Albert noticed the broken bottles, the bullet shells, and the streaks of red on the floor. Eliza noticed the smell: the smell of death and fear she had smelled on Purple Randy.

Behind the bar, a portly old man in a white suit stood fearfully against the wall, as another man rummaged through the bottles. Standing in the far corner of the inn were two men molesting a little girl. They had their hands on her, and were trying to remove her clothes. She was crying, and her face was wet and bruised.

Albert recognised them from the valley, back on the trail. Two men, dressed head to toe in brown uniforms. Black rifles hung from their shoulders. Albert spotted the ever-so familiar flag of the two-headed bear.

The NCR.

"Inn's closed," growled one of the men. Eliza hid herself behind her father's leg. He raised his hands up reassuringly.

"We don't want no trouble. We're just trying to get to New Reno," Albert said with glaring eyes.

"Well then get. And shut the door when you leave," threatened the other man, his hands running up the poor girl's thigh.

Albert cleared his throat. "Actually, we're lost, so if you could just point out the quickest route, we'll be on our way."

"What part of get don't you understand?" spat the first soldier. "Leave, or we'll make you leave," he said, his hand resting on his holster.

Suddenly, a voice called out from the behind the bar.

"Hold on! I know you!" called the voice. The Sharps turned to the bar.

A soldier was busy raiding the alcohol kept behind the bar, while the innkeeper stood awkwardly in the corner. Albert noticed the rank on his sleeve: Corporal.

"Yeah, you're Ranger Sharp! I remember you! Stand down guys, this boy's a Ranger," said the corporal to his subordinates, coming out from the bar.

"Ranger Sharp? The war hero?" asked one of the Privates.

The Corporal walked up to Albert confidently and gave him a salute. "Corporal Pulliver reporting sir. Over there is Private Lowell and Private Rice." The two privates begrudgingly stood up to salute Albert.

"Sorry sir. Thought you were a civvie," remarked Private Rice.

"Uh...it's fine. At ease, soldiers. Go on with your...business." Albert said. The men immediately dropped formality and went back to harassing the poor girl. Eliza looked around, confused. No one had ever given her father this much respect.

"It'd be an honor to have a drink with you sir," said Corporal Pulliver. "What's your poison?"

"Uh, whiskey. Thanks," Albert said reluctantly. As the corporal went to the bar to fetch him and Albert a glass, Eliza shot her father a silent, distressed look.

"I don't like 'em. Let's go!" Eliza whispered. Before Albert could reply, Pulliver was already back with the drinks.

"Come on sir! Sit down," he said, inviting them to a nearby table. As Albert took a seat, he rested his rifle against the wall behind him. The corporal slid him a glass of whiskey.

"Thanks. Got any food?" asked Albert.

"Besides that hot little piece of ass over there?" cackled Corporal Pulliver. His soldiers laughed heartily from the other corner of the room. "We can spare a few 'rations,' sure sir."

The corporal whistled sharply to the cowering bartender. "Hey! Come over here!"

The portly man quickly scurried to the table, averting his eyes. Eliza noticed the man's face was covered in bruises. The corporal grabbed him by the scruff of his neck.

"You see this man over here?" the corporal asked. "You get this man whatever he wants. Understood?"

"Yes sir, whatever he wants! Don't hurt my daughter, please!" begged the innkeeper. That earned him another bruise, as Corporal Pulliver wound back and brought his fist down on the innkeepers head as hard as he could. Eliza's shriveled in fear as the man wailed.

"Take. His. Order." The Corporal shoved the innkeeper towards Albert.

"H-hello! Welcome to the Doc Holliday Inn. Can I get you anything?" he asked stiltedly, a fresh stream of blood running down his forehead.

"She'd like to look at your menu," replied Albert, pointing to Eliza. The innkeeper turned his fearful, bleeding face towards Eliza. Eliza suddenly wasn't hungry anymore.

"I'm not hungry anymore," she said, so very quietly.

"O-oh! Well…" the innkeeper turned back to Corporal Pulliver, unsure of what to do next. The soldier scowled and shoved him away.

"Get back behind the fucking bar. So…" he said, turning back to his guests. "What brings you out to Nevada, to my lovely establishment sir?" he said, motioning to the bar around him in a mock grandiose manner.

"We were in the area. We're trying to get to New Reno," responded Albert, taking a sip of his drink.

"No, I'm sure you're going to New Reno sir. Ain't nothing else out here but fucking sand and cowhands. At least New Reno has  _some_  excitement," laughed Pulliver.

"Mhm," mumbled Albert.

"No, I meant, why're you out here instead of in California? What, Rangers send you on some...secret mission? I thought you were all in Baja on some ghost-chasing mission. I tell you, Hanlon must be losing his damn mind," said the corporal, shaking his head. "With all due respect, sir," he added quickly.

Albert cracked a small smile. "No secret mission, nothing like that."

"You're not on your way to Vegas, are you? God knows you'd be some help over there."

"I'm on leave."

"What a coincidence! We're on leave to. Figure I'd take the boys out to celebrate. New Reno's great for that. Get a few games in? A few girls?" winked Pulliver. "What's life without a little fun, huh?"

"I'm taking my daughter to see her...mother," lied Albert. Pulliver looked confused.

"Daughter? Mother? No offense sir, I didn't think this one was with you like that," he said, politely tipping his hat toward Eliza. "Howdy ma'am." Eliza waved back shyly.

"Yeah, she, uh...hasn't seen her in a while. Figure I'd drop her off."

"I get it. You go on leave to Reno one too many times, you get a girl, you get a little drunk, and then  _oopsy-daisy_ ," laughed Pulliver. "It happens. You wouldn't believe how many men have accidentally made a bastard out of some Nevada whore." He held his hands up apologetically. "No offense, sir."

Albert grinned through gritted teeth. "None taken."

"HEY ASSHOLE!" called one of the privates. "Get us some more beer!"

As the innkeeper frantically fished through his dwindling supply of alcohol, Eliza looked at the poor girl being molested by the soldiers. She was pretty. She couldn't be that much older than Eliza.

"So, you're out from New Vegas?" asked Albert.

"Yessir. Truthfully, we've been reassigned to New Reno as a temporary peacekeeping force before the big move."

Albert raised an eyebrow. "The big move?"

Pulliver smiled. "Annexation, sir. Like dominoes. Vegas, New Reno, then all of Nevada. Once Vegas is squared away, we can start planting our seed, so to speak. Me and the boys figured we'd get a head start."

"So you're robbing small businesses now?" Albert gestured to the innkeeper.

"Let's call it 'putting it under new management.' Ain't that right, buddy?" Pulliver asked evilly. The innkeeper looked to the ground in shame. "Truth is, we got tired of the pussy in Reno, so we decided to sample the 'local' delights."

Albert put down his drink. "So there's NCR in New Reno right now?"

"Of course sir. I'd figured you'd know all this, being a Ranger and all," said Pulliver, with an accusatory tone.

Eliza tensed up as he said this, grabbing onto her father's hand underneath the table. Albert picked up his glass awkwardly.

"Been busy…" he mumbled, taking another swig of whiskey.

"Clearly," spoke the corporal. "You know, there's been rumours going around. Albert Sharp deserting the NCR: Kimball covering it up to save morale."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah. Some even say you've become a fucking mailman. For the Mojave Express."

"Crazy…" trailed off Albert. A small drop of sweat ran down Eliza's back.

"Sired a kid with some tribal whore, and then holed himself up in a shack in some ghost town in Nevada," said Pulliver, looking over at Eliza evilly. "Don't you find that...interesting, sir?"

"Are you accusing me of something, corporal?"

"Not at all sir. I'm just what they call a 'gossip,'" he said. "You know, the whole Republic sees you as some sort of legend, but nobody's ever really gotten to meet you up close."

Albert grunted.

"Me, I actually had the chance to see you in person. Remember...I think it was, 2270, on Presidents Day. Shady Sands. When Peterson gave you the Star of Sierra Madre?" The Corporal proudly pointed to himself. "I was assistant watchman for the 21-gun salute. I was about six feet from you."

"Ain't that right?" said Albert, feigning interest.

"You still got that star?" asked Pulliver.

Albert took another sip of whiskey. "Pawned it off," he retorted

"You pawned off a Star of Sierra Madre?"

Albert gave a wordless shrug in response. Corporal Pulliver looked insulted.

"Those things are priceless," the Corporal scolded.

"Not really. Got maybe, five hundred caps for the thing."

Eliza watched Corporal Pulliver's face contort in confusion, half expecting for the soldier to confront Albert over his sold honor. Instead, his confusion turned to laughter as he broke into a chuckle.

"You're funny, man," he breathed. "You know what? You should come with us." The Corporal pointed back at the doddering, fat old man, pouring drinks with a trembling hand, and his crying daughter, struggling against the restraints of the forceful soldiers.

"These kind, they've always got something hidden away somewhere. Caps, guns, more daughters," smiled the insidious soldier. "And there's plenty of 'em between here and California. You could do well for yourself. We damn sure have been."

Albert's eyes narrowed. "I ain't headed to California."

"Come on, think about it. We could do whatever we like! Wherever we go!" Pulliver tapped the bear insignia on his uniform. "This is Kimball's flag now. He ain't weak, like Peterson was. No one's standing in his way, which means no one's standing in ours."

Albert put down his glass and cleared his throat, so the entire room could hear him. He looked Pulliver dead in the eye.

"Fuck Kimball. And the NCR."

The room fell dead silent. The soldiers in the far corner quit molesting the innkeepers poor daughter, as they turned incredulously to Albert. Corporal Pulliver looked as though he had been slapped in the face. Eliza looked nervously at the ground, her heart starting to race. Albert's face was defiantly unapolagetic, as he took another sip from his glass.

"When I heard that Ranger Sharp had tucked tail and ran away to play mailman, I didn't believe it," he uttered accusingly. "And yet here you are."

"Here I am," Albert said. He downed the rest of his whiskey. "Get me another drink," he ordered.

"You got money to pay for it?"

"Did you pay for it?"

Corporal Pulliver snorted. "No. But we're NCR. And I don't know what the hell you are anymore. So I ask again. You got money to pay for that whiskey?"

"Not a single cap," stated Albert. "I'll still take that drink."

Corporal Pulliver's eyes slanted. "Tell you what. We'll trade you. One of ours, for one of yours," said the Private, laying his eyes on Eliza. Eliza blushed as Pulliver eyed her maliciously. "Private Lowell over there likes 'em young."

Eliza tried not to show the fear on her face, as she silently squeezed her father's leg. Albert continued to talk, in his calm, blunt manner.

"You're a talker," he stated, as he reached over and took Pulliver's drink. "Talkers make me thirsty." Albert then downed the entire mug as Pulliver looked on in angered silence. As Albert took the mug away from his mouth, he burped loudly. "Very thirsty," he added. "Think I'll take two drinks."

The Corporal looked back at his men, who had already discarded of the girl and had unslung their rifles, waiting for the word. He looked back at Albert sitting in front of him, staring back defiantly.

"You don't seem to understand the situation," the Corporal stated quietly. Eliza saw his fingers reach for his sidearm. Her heart was about to explode out of her chest.

Albert responded back in kind: "I understand that if anymore words come pouring out your cunt mouth, I'm gonna have to take every fucking drink in this room."

"You gave your life for the NCR. You're gonna die for a drink?"

Albert slowly reached into his jacket, where the large knife was kept.

"Someone is."

One heartbeat. Two heartbeats. Corporal Pulliver went for his gun. Three heartbeats. Four heartbeats. Eliza was paralyzed as he brought it up to firing level. Five heartbeats. Six heartbeats. Eliza suddenly couldn't breathe. The barrel of the corporal's gun stared her down.

Seven heartbeats. As Eliza closed her eyes, awaiting that fatal crack of the gun, all she heard was a sharp thrusting noise, a gurgling sound, and a thud. She opened her eyes once more.

Corporal Pulliver looked down at the knife protruding his throat in shock. He tried to gurgle a command to his men, blood pouring out his mouth, until his eyes rolled back into his head. Albert harshly ripped the knife out of Pulliver's throat. A stream of blood caught Eliza in the face, as she gasped in terror. Pulliver and his gaping throat slumped over onto the table, dead.

Fourteen heartbeats. The Corporals men looked at their fallen leader in shocked silence. It took them another heartbeat to snap out of it and pull out their rifles.

"Get down!" Albert barked at Eliza, shoving her off her stool. With his other hand, he quickly pushed the dead soldier off the table, and upended it onto its side, forming a temporary wall of cover. A twentieth heartbeat passed as the first shots rang out.

_BANG BANG BANG BANG._

Eliza hit the ground, terrified, as the bullets tore through the the flimsy wooden table. She looked over to her father, his gun in his hand.

"Don't move! Keep your head down!" he called out to her over the hail of gunfire.

Twenty five heartbeats. A brief silence, as the soldiers paused to reload. Albert moved from cover, firing away with his pistol. He caught one of the men in the knee, who collapsed to the ground.

"Argh! You're fucking dead!" growled the wounded man. He returned fire with his service rifle as Eliza had her thirtieth heartbeat. Empty shells rattled to the floor. Bits of wood and metal flew across the room, showering the bar in debris.

Eliza looked to her father, who was busy reloading his pistol. That's when the Sharps suddenly heard a whimper to their left. They looked.

The innkeeper and his daughter were huddled together behind the bar, both of them looking terrified. The innkeeper struggled to subdue his crying daughter as the firefight continued.

And that's when Albert had his idea.

"Stay here!" he told Eliza, as he scampered out of cover towards the bar, whilst Eliza watched.

Suddenly, Albert grabbed the man off of his daughter, pulling him upwards.

"Get up!" he barked. The man whimpered in pain as he was jolted to his feet.

"Daddy!" screamed the daughter, behind the bar.

"Please! Let me go!" cried the innkeeper.

The shooting subsided for a fiftieth heartbeat as Eliza and the soldiers looked on in confusion. Albert held the portly man in front of him, hiding behind him, his pistol to his head.

Albert had taken a hostage.

"Shoot!" he yelled out to the soldiers.

Another heartbeat. Two bullets hit the innkeeper- one in the heart and one in the chest, as he slumped over. His daughter let out a long shriek of grief whilst Eliza watched in horror.

A sixtieth heartbeat. The innkeeper was dead, but Albert was not done with him. Albert began to march slowly towards the soldiers, holding the corpse in front of him for protection.

The soldiers, now seeing what he intended, resumed fire. Another bullet came and tore off the innkeepers jaw. Another came and dug itself into his shoulder. Yet Albert marched on, as the lifeless innkeeper stared dumbly ahead as he became riddled with bullets.

A seventy fifth heartbeat passed by, and the soldiers started aiming for the legs.  _BANG, BANG, BANG._ A round flew into the man's boots. Another bullet might have clipped Albert's legs, and would have stopped his macabre assault immediately.

But that's when the soldiers ran out of bullets. A private struggled with his rifle as he tried to switch out the empty magazine. Albert unceremoniously dumped the innkeeper at his feet.

"Shit-shit-shit-shit-shit...SHIT!"

Albert was on them before they could raise their weapons. With one hand, he fired upon Private Lowell, putting one bullet in his skull, and another in his chest, promptly dropping the man to the floor. With his other hand, Albert threw his knife at the other private with the busted knee. It pirouetted through the air before embedding itself in his gut. The soldier let out a cry of pain, clutching at the sharp object in his stomach. He looked up, and saw the barrel of Albert's pistol stare him right back.

"No, no, wait-"

BANG. BANG. BANG. Three shots to make sure the man stayed dead.

Eliza sat back in shock, as she tried to regain control of her breathing. Her poor little heart was beating faster than a drum.

"You alright, Eliza?" called out Albert, retrieving his knife from the fallen soldier's gut.

Eliza nodded, too out of breath to speak.

"Eliza? You okay?"

"Y-yes! I'm okay!"

"Good," responded her father. "Grab your shit. Let's get out of here."

She hurried to her feet, grabbing her backpack from the floor. Before they left, however, Albert walked up to the inconsolable daughter of the innkeeper. She was a pretty little thing. He took a knee in front of her, looking her dead in the eyes.

"Sorry. He probably didn't deserve that," he told her. The girl let out a heart-wrenching wail. Eliza did her best to avoid making eye contact.

Albert sighed. He reached into his duster, and grabbed a small sack of caps, placing it atop the bar. He turned back to the girl.

"Now...are you gonna try and take revenge on me or my daughter?" he asked.

The girl rapidly shook her head, tears flying from her cheeks.

"Good. Where's the quickest route to New Reno?"

She pointed a trembling finger southbound.

"Alright then." Albert stood up. "Farewell miss," he said, tipping his hat politely towards her.

"You coming, pancakes?" he said to Eliza.

"Y-yes."

"Then let's go,"

And as the Sharp family ventured out of the Doc Holliday Inn, Eliza found it hard to ignore the sharp feeling in her stomach as they left the now orphaned daughter, screaming something awful in a room of the dead.

* * *

_Mmm, Game of Thrones references. Also, Doc Holliday Inn. A+._

_So why did Albert change his mind so quickly about Eliza joining him on his travels? What was on that note? We just might find out in the next chapter._

_I wonder, are the song suggestions doing anything for anybody? I like including them, it's just that I don't know if readers will get the "cues" for each song, so to speak. If this is something that readers like, I'll keep doing it, and if absolutely necessary, I could indicate subtly where each song is "cued." (although I'm sure it won't come to that)_

_Side note, it would be cool for someone to draw some nice cover art for this story- ignore the current cover art, that's just a placeholder. Please hit me up!_


	5. Flashback: False Hope

Chapter Five, Flashback One: False Hope

Audio Enhancement

"Dream A Little Dream of Me," by Doris Day.

"Stars," by Nina Simone.

"They Won't Go When I Go," by Stevie Wonder.

* * *

_**Seven Years Ago** _

It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining. The pristine smell of the mountains melded perfectly with the forest dew. A fresh bouquet of snow graced the mountaintops like a blanket. It was a perfect day to spend be with one's family. But as Albert jogged back up the pathway to his home on the hill overlooking Cold Springs, he did not feel elated, nor excited to be with his loved ones again. Instead, all he felt was dread.

His wife, Annabelle, had fallen sick a few months ago, shortly after they moved into Cold Springs. Albert had just finished building their home, when Annabelle started to develop her sickness. At first, it seemed insignificant. A few coughs, a few dizzying spells. But after a while her condition began to worsen and worsen, until the Sharp's realised there was something  _very_ wrong with her.

Albert had just gotten back from a job in Montana, hunting down a dangerous outlaw. The kill netted him quite a few caps, which all went to buying medicine for his wife. Albert looked at his dismal cabin. Dismal and dilapidated, it breathed death every time he looked at it. Albert opened the door to the cabin.

"I'm home!" he called out, stepping into the house, making his way to their communal bedroom.

And there lay Annabelle, on their bed. On the off days she felt strong enough to walk, she would be outside, taking in the smell of the fresh mountaintops, the dew falling from the trees. She would bask in the sunlight, watching as Eliza picked flowers and chased bugs. She would sing her songs, all the songs she knew, and some she didn't. On her good days, she'd be like any other loving mother, caring for her child.

Annabelle didn't have many good days.

"You're back," she breathed hoarsely. The dulcet tones of her voice were gone, anything above a whisper replaced with a raspy wheeze. He leaned down to plant a light kiss on her forehead.

"I brought more Radaway. We should be good for another week or so," he told her, laying the I.V bags down by her side, taking a seat next to her on the bed. She nodded weakly.

"Acute radiation poisoning," the local Cold Springs doctor, Dr. Michaels called it. "She displays all the symptoms. Within a year, she'll be dead or worse." The doctor then explained that only by taking a Radaway daily would the condition eventually ease, and maybe even prevent the worst from happening. So Albert toiled, night after night doing different jobs, just to be able to buy Annabelle another day. Radaway wasn't exactly cheap, and the Sharp's weren't exactly rich ever since Albert deserted the NCR. To every town and settlement he visited, he visited the local doctor's and took their opinions. None were very helpful, most suggesting such barbarous practices like bleeding out the infected blood, and even some very brave men suggesting shooting her in the head and ending her suffering. Those remarks earned those doctors a few of their own wounds to treat.

As each day passed, Albert gave her the Radaway, and with each day, her condition only deteriorated, along with her appearance. Day after day, the Sharps sunk more of their money into a losing war.

Her color was starting to fade. He could see that her rosy cheeks had become corpse white. She was becoming more gaunt as well. Her normally supple skin around her face now clung tightly to her jawbones. She was most noticeably losing her hair. What once was flowing ebony locks of hair was replaced with inconsistent tufts and patches. But when Albert saw her eyes, that is when his heart truly broke. The hopeful light that had danced in her once-shining eyes had been snatched away, and all that remained were strained, sunken dots.

Albert lifted her hand off the bed. He was astonished at how light and fragile it felt. Annabelle watched dismally as he slowly inserted the tube into her arm. With her pale, paper-like skin, he didn't have much trouble finding a vein. She trembled slightly.

"Hold still, sweetheart."

"It hurts, Albert."

"I know, just keep still, please. I'm sorry."

He felt her pain, he always did. Every slight discomfort she'd suffered killed him inside. Every time her face twisted as the needle punctured her skin, he'd feel it himself, as if he'd been skewered with a great long spear. A lone tear fell down her cheek. He caught it before it could hit the ground.

As the intravenous solution pumped Radaway into her system, Albert sat by her side, clutching onto her hand. She looked up at him, her haunting black eyes staring right through Albert. She weakly grasped his hands.

"I want to hold her," Annabelle breathed.

"Why don't you get some rest first? Then when you wake up, you can hold her," he reasoned.

She shook her head slowly, in much difficulty. "I want to hold her now."

"But-"

"Please Albert," she begged. She broke out into a fit of violent coughs.

He sighed, getting up from the bed to the other side of the room.

On the other side of the room was little Eliza, three years old, and already the most important part of Albert's life. Before Annabelle became worse, she would have Eliza sleep between the two. These days, Eliza hardly ever touched her mother.

"Come here darlin'. Daddy's got you," he said warmly, lifting a napping Eliza from her cot. He cradled her in his arms, rocking her gently, as he hummed one of her favorite tunes.

"Give her here," Annabelle pleaded. Albert slowly lowered Eliza into his wife's loving arms. Annabelle stared lovingly into her daughter's face, her own face lighting up with a smile. Albert's heart leapt a bit.

"Alright then," she said wearily. "Start the thing."

Albert sighed pressed a button on his watch, starting the timer, looking up at her sad eyes. He longed to hold her, and tell her it was alright. However, countless doctors had all warned him of the same thing: touching her would risk infection. "One singular, glancing touch, and you'll catch it," Dr. Michaels warned. So the Sharp's developed what they called, "The Thirty Second Rule." It was never enough. However many times they did it, it was never enough. The seconds ticked by, but he wasn't watching. He was watching his poor wife, gently caress their daughter in her arms. Eliza began to stir, waking to the touch of her mother.

"Momma…" Eliza mumbled. Annabelle giggled in joy.

"Yes sweetheart. It's your momma. I'm here," she laughed. "I'll always be here." She held her close, holding Eliza's against hers, eyes closed, listening to the beating of her precious heart. For a moment, it looked as if she had life again, a surge of color returning to her face.

Albert's watch sounded off. The timer had stopped. She gave him a worried look.

"Just a little longer...just a little bit, please," she breathed.

He gave her ten more seconds before he took Eliza off of her. It felt as if he was removing her heart, and it broke his to do so. As he gently lowered Eliza back down into her cot, she watched the entire time, longing to hold her. Tears began to run down her face as she started to cry, slightly impeded by her lack of breath. Albert returned to sit back down by her side.

"I don't want to live like this anymore," she whispered tearfully. "I can't."

He embraced her. For thirty seconds.

* * *

_"It's not contagious."_

That's all Albert could think about as he ran through the mountainous hills back to his little house on the hill in Cold Springs. He leapt through bushes and over rocks, running impetuously through the mole-rat infested forest, desperate to get home with this new information in mind. Up above, the sun was beginning to disappear, and the moon took its place in the sky.

_"It's not contagious."_

He had met a man in New Reno. An intelligent, esteemed man by the name of Clarence Chang. By chance, they had found themselves at the same location- Albert, who had been hired for a gun running mission down in Vegas a few weeks prior, and Dr. Chang a doctor who had come down from Redding with his family, looking for medical work in the Nevada area. The two men hit it off quite well, as they shared a drink at the Shark Club- they were both serious men of duty, sworn to their families (Although they were both quite standoffish). By chance once more, the two men found themselves sharing the same destination- Cold Springs. Dr. Chang was to be the town's new doctor, moving his family to Cold Springs, a welcome replacement over the foolish "Dr." Michaels. He had solid credentials; having been trained by the Followers of the Apocalypse, and serving as a field surgeon during the war with the Brotherhood of Steel.

On the Brahmin ride to Cold Springs, Albert pestered Dr. Chang with questions about his wife's condition. He described her sickness, the medicine she had been taking, the operations she had undergone, and Dr. Michael's prognosis on her health. Listening raptly as Albert described her symptoms, Dr. Chang dropped a stunning revelation on Albert: Annabelle did not have radiation poisoning, but something else entirely.

"A misdiagnosis. Yes, your wife may have suffered from radiation sickness to begin with, having been exposed to nuclear radioactivity. But it sounds like she has developed cancer as a result of that."

"Cancer?"

"Yes. It's a disease, usually developed from high levels of radiation. A rather deadly condition, but it is treatable. But although those with from the same genetic makeup may be predisposed to developing it later in life, cancer itself is not contagious."

Albert was stunned. "So that means…"

"You and your daughter are safe from any sort of exposure, yes," said Dr. Chang, adjusting his glasses. "Have your wife come by the office after I've set up, and I'll take a look at her."

And in that moment, there was hope, and the stars shined a little brighter for Albert. The minute they arrived at Cold Springs, Albert thanked Dr. Chang, and immediately sprinted up to the house on the hill, this new info burning a hole in his mind.  _It's not contagious._

Was it information that would save her life? Would it matter in the end? No. But it was something. Just a little something he could tell her, just to see her smile again. Just to let her know she could touch their daughter, that she could kiss her husband. Just a little bit of joy, and it would have been all worth it.

_"It's not contagious."_

* * *

Just a few meters ahead, he spotted the Sharp family cabin, as Albert zoomed past the rocks and the twigs to get back home to his shoddy cabin.

He couldn't wait to tell her the good news. He would take her, and hold her tight for as long as he desired. He would explain that her sickness would never harm him, and she would never harm the family. He would then bring her her daughter, her beloved Eliza, to hold her, to kiss her. For once, they could be a normal family again. Wrapped up in his excitement, he almost failed to notice the strange object placed right outside the house. He stopped dead in his tracks.

Eliza's cot. Sitting outside, on it's lonesome. And in it was Eliza, sleeping soundly, wrapped in her quilt. Albert looked on in confusion, wondering what she could be doing out there.

He frowned. She would have never left Eliza out on her own. Even in her most clouded states of mind, she would have never left her only daughter alone, out in the night, vulnerable to the bandits and the predators. Albert scanned the surroundings quickly, pulling out his sidearm. There were no signs of intrusion...no holes in the wall or bullet shells in the dirt...and even then, he couldn't think of a reason Eliza would be out by herself.

And that's when a horrifying, monstrous thought wormed it's way into Albert's head.

"Oh no...no, no, no…" he muttered fearfully to himself.

Albert broke into a sprint, desperately beating the ground towards his cabin, all the while thinking to himself,  _"Please be okay, please be okay."_  Even as he ran, he felt his muscles fatigue: a sudden weakness overcoming him, a sharp pain in his chest.

As he stumbled up onto the house, Eliza lay there in her cot, sleeping peacefully. Albert quickly checked over her, to make sure she was alright. But before he could kick down the door to check on his wife, something grabbed his attention. Inside Eliza's cot, lying next to her was a ring- dirty and scratched, yet still golden, adorned with a minuscule diamond. Annabelle's wedding ring. Another stab of pain hit him like a brick. She never took the ring off.

The ring encased a rolled up sheet of paper. Albert curiously pulled it from it's sheathe. A ripped out page from one of Eliza's storybooks. "The End," was written on it in large cartoonish letters. His hands starting to shake, he turned the page over.

Writing. It was her handwriting all right- the soft crosses of her "T's" and the bright dots of her "I's". He began to read. Word after word flew by, it was all a rush as the situation unraveled itself. The air around him suddenly turned cold. A sharp ringing in his ears. The color rushed from his face. Albert's weakness returned, his legs started to fail underneath him. No, no, it couldn't be true, but it was. As Albert read through his wife's note, his soul began to die.

"Oh fuck...oh christ, no, please, oh FUCK!"

He read it again. And again. And again once more, trying to make sense of it all, trying to find something. A loophole, a mistake, even the makings of a harsh practical joke, something to save him from the harsh reality in front of him.

"No,no,no, oh...Jesus Christ…" he wailed, tears starting to form in his eyes.

He felt his knees buckle, his limbs giving way to his grief, as he fell to his knees. His eyes caught the last few words on the page:

_Forever yours, and no one else's._

He threw down the note quickly, and rushed to the door. Perhaps she changed her mind. Perhaps she missed. Perhaps some cosmic coincidence occurred, somehow preventing her from doing such a terrible thing. At the door, his hand trembling, he slowly turned the knob, pushing it open. He peered inside, frightened of what he might see.

"Sweetheart?" he called out into the void. But the void did not answer. For nothing lived in the Sharp family residence anymore. Nothing remained, but the gaunt corpse of his beloved wife, slumped against the couch- in her hands, a shiny white gun.

And the courier let out a haunting scream of grief, his trembling hands tearing away at his hair, as he collapsed to the ground sobbing hysterically. He tried his damnedest to forget her face, so the pain of losing her would sting a little less. But all he could think about was the gentle caress of her skin, the pure, enticing smell of her hair, and her haunting, beautiful eyes. Her angelic voice, crooning softly, whispering in his ear,  _"I love you."_

For the courier had been shot, stabbed, burnt, and beaten, but no pain he had suffered by the hands of man could ever compare to the pain of losing his sweet Annabelle. That pain, that wretched pain, broke him inside until all that remained of him was a monument to his pathetic despair. His grief turned to madness, as his screams turned to laughter. Pure, terrible laughter, so haunting and tragic. The people of Cold Springs would not sleep a wink that night, as Albert's laughter echoed down the mountains into town, shaking it's foundations to it's core.

As he lay there, his face buried into his hands, laughing something awful, Eliza awoke from her cot. Little Eliza, having not a worry in the world, waking to the sound of her father's grief. She pulled herself up with her tiny arms, breathing in the night sky. The smell of the lush mountaintops. She looked to her father, on the ground, hyperventilating madly. She opened her mouth to speak:

"Where's momma?"

In the distance, the moon shone brightly in the cool, night sky.

* * *

_My dearest Albert,_

_Every day that you are gone, I find myself wondering when the blight will take me. I feel it in my lungs and in my veins, the tumours festering within my brain._

_I don't know how long it will take for the radiation to kill me. But I know this: every day we spend waiting for a cure or operation that might not even work, you and Eliza spend another day running the risk of being exposed, and becoming infected as well._

_I've stopped touching her completely: I'm afraid the sickness inside me will kill her as well. It is the most painful thing I have ever done, and I wish to do it no longer._

_We've always planned it so that I would die in your arms, but that's no longer an option. I choose to end it now, so you and Eliza may live._

_I'll use the gun that you keep behind the bed- the one I'm never allowed to touch. I am sorry._

_Albert Sharp, you are by far, the best thing that has ever happened to me. Before we met, I was falling, and falling, and falling, until the falling felt like floating, and at that precise moment, I finally accepted my fate. I was a leaf amidst the breeze, having fell from the trees, swaying to and fro, never knowing when it would finally hit the ground. And then something wonderful happened. I fell into your life, just as you fell into mine. I give thanks everyday for that._

_When you get home, Eliza will be in her cot, outside, in the garden. This note will be tucked into her blanket, bound by the ring of our marriage. When you enter, I only ask that you don't let her see me. Her last image of me shouldn't be this._

_As I write this, I hear her outside now, babbling and giggling to herself, and it fills me with warmth and love in these last moments. Our daughter is amazing: she can balance the world on her fingertips, and she can light up the skies with her smile. She is braver than I am, and she deserves more than this. Promise me, you will give her more. And promise me, that you will never leave her alone._

_Forever yours, and no one else's,_

_Your loving wife,_

_Annabelle._

* * *

_I'm sorry this chapter took so goddamn long. I've been busy. I promise the next chapter will be here quicker this time._

_I also promise that I didn't cry while writing this. Swearsy realsies._


	6. Enjoy Your Stay!

Chapter Six: Enjoy Your Stay!

Audio Enhancement

"Far Away," by Jose Gonzalez.

"Convoy," by Johann Johannsson

"Pariah," by Ramin Djawadi.

"Live In Fear," by Mark Crozer.

* * *

_"Caroline my darling, Caroline my sweet. If I married Caroline, so happy I would be,"_

The sharp pain that Eliza had felt while she watched her father massacre a room full of people half and hour ago had not withered away and died. Instead, it hung heavy in her stomach like an anvil, weighing down each step she took. She couldn't get the image of the innkeeper suddenly collapsing in her father's arms as he was riddled with bullets, shielding her father from harm, out of her head. Nor could she forget the pained scream of his daughter, as she watched as her father's dead body hit the floor. Nor her pained look of confused grief as Albert left the Inn, only leaving her a sack of caps as a form of remorse. Eliza shuddered. Whatever worry that was eating her up from the inside did not have the same effect on her father. She looked to Albert, who strolled merrily along the road, singing Eliza's favorite song.

 _"Wouldn't need no whiskey, wouldn't need no wine. Wouldn't need much of anything if Caroline was mine,_ " hummed Albert, softly, and a little off-key. "Come on Pancakes, you're a better singer than I am," he said, nudging her shoulder. "What comes after 'whiskey and wine?'"

"I thought you didn' want me to sing," grumbled Eliza. "'Cause it'd tell everyone where we were."

"We're about to merge onto the Caravan trail, onto the main road. After that, anything that comes after us, we'll see coming from miles away," he explained. "So go on. What comes after 'whiskey and wine?' Is it, ' _Her daddy is a preacher, and may he-_ "

"Why'd you kill that man?" she interrupted, with a judgemental squint. Albert raised an eyebrow.

"Which man?" he asked.

"The fat man, the one they were beatin'. The innkeeper," said Eliza. "He didn't have to die."

"No, I don't reckon he did," admitted her father, adjusting his hat to the shield him from the sun above. "But in the heat of a fight, a man's gotta do whatever he can to survive." A vulture shrieked from up above, as if it agreed with Albert's words. Eliza noticed a wake of them in the far distance, circling what she hoped was a dead animal.

"Also, I, didn't necessarily kill him," he pointed out. Eliza shot him a disapproving frown.

"You don't do that a lot do you? Hurt innocent people?" inquired Eliza.

"No. Try not to. Although it's hard to tell the innocent from the guilty nowadays," Albert sighed as he watched the vultures circle in the distance.

"His daughter was innocent," Eliza grumbled, kicking up a little bit of sand.

Albert's face contorted slightly, an odd trace of shame on his normally emotionless face.

"Listen, Eliza. I never claimed to be a perfect man...or a perfect father for that matter," he confessed as he walked. "I've done things that...well, if your momma was alive today...I'm not sure we'd be... _ahem_." That last sentence was noticeably hard for him to say, catching itself in his throat, like an odd lump of regret. He faked a cough, continuing his speech.

"...But, I have never, and never will, hurt another man for no reason. Matter fact, I like to think I've helped more people than I've hurt. After all, I deliver stuff for a living. Important stuff. I make a difference in people's lives, I don't just take 'em."

Eliza frowned. "But you do take 'em? Why do you gotta kill people?"

"You best get used to it, kid," said Albert, shaking his head. "This world ain't made for pacifists. You eat, or you get eaten."

"...Passy-fist?" Eliza asked with a squint.

"A pacifist. Someone who doesn't like killing," Albert explained. "I don't like killing, but I still gotta do it. In a perfect world, I'd be perfect. But it ain't."

Eliza sighed. She knew, more than anyone else, the industry her father was in was a violent one, and the only way someone could be successful in her father's position was to answer violence in kind. She herself, was no stranger to the cold abyss of death, having seen her Albert kill many times before they ever step foot in the Doc Holliday Inn. But no matter how many times she saw it, killing someone, a human being...it always seemed like an odd, foreign concept to her.

"I know some people gotta die," Eliza began slowly. "All the raiders. Bandits." Her mind flashed back to Purple Randy's hideous gauche outfit and his evil grin. She shuddered. "All of 'em need'ta go to hell, an' you gotta put em there. But I guess...well…" she trailed off.

"Yeah? What?"

"Well...if this world is just killin' and stealin', an' if it's all bad…" Eliza stared off into the distance, as the vultures swooped down to devour their prey. "Is there any good out there?" she asked quietly.

No response from her father.

"...Daddy?"

Albert had walked off, to the edge of a large cliff. Down below them was the hilly mountain path. He seemed to be transfixed on something in the distance.

"What is it?" asked Eliza. She walked over to the edge of the precipice, and stared out onto the horizon.

In front of the Sharp family, stood the largest city Eliza had ever seen. New Reno. A glittering beast that seemed to shine, even in the bright sunlight. The city seemed to "hum," a sort of lively energy that Cold Springs failed to project. With it's towering buildings and its impressive architecture, Cold Springs now seemed like nothing more than a hole in the ground.

"Down went Alice after it…" Albert muttered under his breath. Eliza didn't even bother to ask him what he meant. She turned her attention towards the city gates. Snaking out of them was a long line of ants was the Caravan trail. The main road.

The Caravan trail headed into New Reno was long. An endless line of Brahmin, accompanied by hundreds of traders. Eliza had never seen so many people in one place before. The road was thronged with hordes of travellers, while NCR soldiers patrolled up and down the convoy, keeping everyone in line. The amount of traffic beating the sand below kicked dust up into the air, forming heavy clouds of dirt above the line.

Some caravaners were noticeably more well off than others, travelling in carts, carriages, and even a few trucks. You could tell which traders were more successful than the rest. The small, independent ventures had no carts, no vehicles, pathetically struggling along, humping their wares on their own backs just to make extra space. Hired mercenaries flanked their respective companies wares, glancing sideways at their fellow travellers, their itchy fingers tapping their firearms cautiously.

Albert narrowed his eyes, focusing on the developing situation below. A convoy of small trucks had come from behind, merging into the trail. The trucks then carelessly steamrolled through the rest of the masses, pushing the poorer traders out of the way, as they hurried to get out of the truck's path. One foolish, unfortunate trader decided that he and his wares would stand their ground, not wanting to lose his place on the line. Whether it was unawareness or plain arrogance, the trucks did not slow down, as they barrelled through the lone trader's Brahmin. A loud holler erupted from the poor animal as the trucks ran over it. The loot that had been affixed to its back were squished underneath the trucks giant tires. The trader himself had been quick to jump out of the way, managing to avoid becoming roadkill, unlike his now flattened, dead Brahmin. Unfortunately for him, he had nothing to sell anymore, as his goods exploded into a pile of debris, crushed by the large vehicles.

Albert spotted the brand sprayed onto the truck's doors. A regal mannered golden lion, its long mane accentuated with thick black paint, looking unapologetic and proud. He had seen the symbol before, a little more often than he'd like. His face was sour as he spoke.

"There's some good out there. We just gotta find it."

* * *

Someone once told Albert that New Reno was like a pit of tar. Once you got in, you'd find it awfully hard to get out. If you did, it'd always leave a large stain on you, to remind you of its scummy center. And if you didn't, you'd sink to the bottom of the pit, drowned and forgotten, like so many unmarked graves in Golgotha.

New Reno. The Devil's Playground. All the sleaze and depravity of New Vegas, minus all the glitz, the glamour, and the armed Securitrons to keep the peace. A town of immorality and violence, with half of the population hooked on jet, and the other half selling it. Never was a city so embedded in crime, so rooted in corruption. But Reno was built by crime, and it was held together by it as well.

The Wright Family had the largest stake in New Reno. Forty years ago, the Wrights were just another cog in the wheel, a ritty-ditty organization that paled in comparison to those of the major crime families of it's time- namely, the Bishops, the Salvatores, and the Mordinos. But gang violence and turf wars had all but crippled these families, until there was only one player left in the game. Now, the Wrights had  _become_  the wheel, eliminating their rivals, taking their territories until they were  _the_  crime family in the whole Nevada area. But power only lasts for so long.

A rival clan out of Redding known as the Van Graff Family had expanded their profitable empire into the Nevada area about a decade or so back. The Van Graffs were richer than sin, dealing in gold and weaponry. The family had taken control of the Redding's, and effectively, the NCR's gold mines a long time ago. Anything made of gold in the NCR likely came from the Van Graffs. The ruthless Van Graffs were notorious for their Machiavellian business practices. Gold was a cutthroat industry, even by Nevada standards, and for the Van Graffs to be the only player left meant that they had gotten rid of their competition, and even some of their partners- one way or another. Now, the golden lion sigil flew over New Reno, much to the annoyance of the Wrights.

So to avoid conflict, the Wrights and the Van Graffs struck an agreement. The Wrights would control the cities vices- drugs, prostitution and pornography. The Van Graffs would have control over the gold trade and the energy weaponry. That just left one last card to play- New Reno Arms.

Formerly an independent venture, New Reno Arms was under firm control of the Bishop Family. The Bishops had survived the turf war that had destroyed the Salvatores and the Mordinos, but at a large cost. Their control over the city had effectively been dismantled, their holds gone, and their men lacking. In spite of this, John Bishop's final act as crime king of New Reno before he died was to take over New Reno Arms, the most profitable business in the city.

Call them whatever you'd like, but the Bishops were stubborn, hanging onto the NRA for years, repelling competing bids of influence, and dismantling competing businesses. The NRA, along with the Shark Club, were all the Bishops owned, and they would die before they'd let it slip away, as soon found out by the Van Graffs. So another deal was made.

The Bishops would keep their guns. But in exchange, they'd kick up a large percent of their profits to the Van Graffs.

The Wrights, the Van Graffs, and to the lesser extent, the Bishops ruled over New Reno with a slimy, iron fist. The city was like a giant marionette, and the mob had their fingers on the strings. There was hardly ever "peace," in New Reno, but the three families managed to keep to their own...when they could help it.

* * *

As the Sharp family reached the front of the line into New Reno, and Albert laid his eyes on the large welcoming sign, he was reminded of a large pit of tar, and the wise words he'd heard from a long time ago. But as Albert seemed apprehensive, little Eliza was simply dumbfounded as they reached the front gates.

"Woah…" breathed Eliza.

_Reno. The Biggest Little City In The World._

Eliza stopped dead in her tracks, just to look at the sign. It was so bright and colourful to her- so alien to her drab and grey home in Cold Springs. She stood there in admiration of Reno's welcoming sign, until she was pulled along by her father.

"Stay close to me. Don't get lost," he warned her.

Easy to get lost in a big city. But a big 'little' city? Nothing seemed 'little' to little Eliza, as the Sharp family passed the threshold into New Reno. In fact, everything seemed so very large and foreign. Skyscrapers, touching the tips of clouds, kissing the sky. There were buildings so tall, Eliza got dizzy as she looked up to see where it ended. She had thought the Cold Springs mayoral building was impressive, but this? Extraordinary. The streets were wide, enough for convoys of vehicles to pass through. Eliza stared in awe as another group of trucks entered the city. She had never seen a vehicle that  _moved_  before. And the people of New Reno?

Eliza had never seen anything like it. The place was packed- migrants, travellers, traders, soldiers, thugs, drunks: all kinds of people, filling the streets like ants on a hill. So many different sights and sounds came rushing through, over the mechanical buzz of civilisation. Casino barkers yelled out to the public, advertising their businesses. Perfumed women in scantily clad outfits, so enticing and alluring, blowing kisses to passerbys. NCR soldiers, some, bless their hearts, desperately trying to maintain some sort of order throughout all the chaos. Others, who only contributed, stumbling through the streets, laughing and drinking. And the smell...Eliza wondered if this was what a big city smelled like. And if it was, she wasn't sure she liked it.

"I didn't know there was this many people in the whole world," Eliza whispered.

Albert chuckled. "You dump enough trash anywhere, and the rats will come runnin' from miles away. Ain't surprised the NCR is here, honestly."

A man stood on the sidewalk, surrounded by a mob of the most filthy people Eliza had ever seen in her life. Gaunt, frail men with sunken eyes and pale skin, waving sacks of caps at the man in the center. He wore a large leather duster and a captivating grin. The man would then pass out small vials and bottles and syringes of strange looking liquid from his jacket to his amassed congregation, exchanging them with their money. All the while shouting out to the streets, advertising his wares.

"What d'you want? I got Jet, I got Buffout, I got Psycho, I got it all people! Hey, you there! You look like you could use a taste!"

"Keep walking," Albert told Eliza. She nodded.

"Howdy mister," sang a pretty young woman standing on the street corner in a skimpy red bikini. "Why don't you drop off your little friend and you and I can get to know each other a little better?" she crooned, as she enticingly placed her hands on Albert's muscular arms.

"Not interested," Albert said curtly, pushing her off of him. As if on cue, another shabbily dressed vagrant came out of the shadows to give Albert an offer.

"Hey, cute kid. How much do you want for her?" he croaked.

"Get the fuck out of my way!" Albert snarled. To his credit, the vagrant meekly returned to his shady corner.

Albert spat at him. "Not my cup of tea this place," he muttered.

"What are we even lookin' for?" asked Eliza, still coming down from the rush of her new surroundings.

"Straight to the Mojave Express Outpost- ask if they got any special jobs. If this thing is as hush-hush as it sounds, we're looking for a guy named Jules," Albert said. "He's the 'quote-unquote' greeter around here. If anyone knows what's going on in the city he'll know about it."

Eliza looked around timidly at the sea of brown uniforms. "There's a lot of soldiers here," she murmured.

"I wouldn't worry 'bout it. No one knows we're here."

As if on cue, two NCR soldiers approached the Sharp family, a man and a woman, their faces obscured by their face wraps and goggles, tucked underneath their helmets. Albert cursed under his breath, and gently pushed Eliza behind him. The soldiers gave Albert a salute.

"Welcome to New Reno, Mr. Sharp. My name is Private Martin, and this is Private Sanchez," said the man. "Would you mind following us?"

"I would. I ain't done anything wrong," challenged Albert, his hand instinctively resting on his holster.

"We've been instructed to escort you into the city. A friend of ours would like to talk to you," added the woman.

A chill ran up Eliza's spine as she recalled the bar fight they were in an hour ago. Could news really travel so fast?

Albert bared his teeth, his whole body tensing. "I'm not going to be put under arrest by some NCR Colonel. If you want to bring me in, you're gonna have to-"

"We're not here to arrest you, and we're not here on behalf of the NCR, sir," Martin interrupted, extending his hand toward Albert, his palms open. Inside it was a checkered black and white poker chip. Albert's keen eyes immediately recognised the tiny, black symbol it was adorned with: a shark.

"John Bishop sends his regards sir,"

Eliza looked to her father with questioning eyes, clutching him tighter. If John Bishop of New Reno wanted to talk with her, it wasn't to catch up.

Everyone in the Nevada area knew the name Bishop. Although it didn't carry the same power it once did forty years ago, the John Bishop of today was every bit the John Bishop of old. The wrathful crime lord of New Reno had not only inherited his Grandfather's name, but also his penchant for ruthless violence.

"I'm not bringing my daughter into the Shark Club..." Albert stated carefully.

"Mr. Bishop has comped you the Presidential Suite at the Drunk Cupid, sir. Private Sanchez here will escort your daughter there, while you meet with Mr. Bishop at the Shark Club." Private Sanchez stepped forward to take Eliza from her father, until she was shoved away by Albert.

"...And I'm not just gonna hand her off to some mob stooge. You gotta be out of your damn mind if you think I'm leaving her alone with anyone," said Albert, raising a protective arm over Eliza. The two soldiers exchanged anxious looks.

"Please, sir. Mr. Bishop has assured us that if you or your daughter were harmed at any time during your time in New Reno, he would…" the soldier cleared his throat. "...have us buried up to our necks in the Mojave desert with our eyes peeled back sir," he finished.

There was a short moment of silence, as Albert gave the two soldiers the ocular pat down, sizing them up. He heard the woman gulp nervously behind her face wrap.

"Please, sir," the man repeated, practically begging. "Ain't wise to keep Mr. Bishop waiting."

* * *

It took a lot of convincing, but Albert finally relented, on the condition that he would personally bring Eliza to their room in the Drunk Cupid before heading to the Shark Club. When the soldiers realised they weren't going to change his mind, they agreed, and escorted the Sharp family to the hotel.

The Drunk Cupid, formerly a church, was burned down a while back. On its ashes, a luxurious hotel was built. Technically, no mob owned it, but they all had a piece of it, one way or another.

As Albert and Eliza walked up to the large building, he told her:

"I don't wanna scare you, but I don't wanna lie to you either, Eliza. We've come to a dangerous place. We've gotta be real careful from here on out, alright pancakes?"

"Will you be okay?"

"I'll be fine," he reassured her. "When you get to the room, lock the door, and don't answer to anyone. Don't talk to anyone, and most importantly, don't leave the room."

Eliza nodded, heeding her father's words. When they got to the front lobby, Private Sanchez took Eliza by the hand.

"I'll take her up to her room sir."

"You better," Albert threatened. He then looked to Eliza.

"I'll be back soon. I promise."

And as Private Martin took her father away to the Shark Club, Eliza watched him leave, wondering what they had gotten themselves into.

* * *

_THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP._

_"...you're listening to New Reno Radio, the biggest little station in the biggest little city. That last song was dedicated to all you bad mother-heartbreakers and lifetakers of the 5th Army Battalion. Give 'em hell, boys…Well folks, it's a beautiful day in Reno. Let those cards keep dealin, those slots keep reelin', and those drinks keep wheelin'. Cause I got a feelin' you're gonna love this next track...to New Reno's foes and all those who oppose, y'all better listen close, cause this next song is just for you…"_

The sweet blasting tones of New Reno blared through the radio speakers, albeit somewhat dulled by the sounds of the strange "thumping" noises coming from below the room. It didn't matter much to John Bishop, or more accurately, John Bishop II, who sat at the counter of the Shark Club bar, smoking a cigar. There were times where John would sit back against the bar counter with a glass of scotch in hand, cooling off to the dulcet tones of New Reno Radio as he listened to the satisfying thumps echoing from below the casino. But not today. No, today...he had other things on his mind today.

Day or night, the Shark Club was never empty. Regarded as the best casino in Reno, the Shark Club was the destination for vice. Gambling, girls, drinks, served up together as you were serenaded by the best singing talent in Nevada. The fearsome reputation of its owner did little to halt the flow of caps, and the Shark Club found itself the hottest venue in town, night after night.

But today, the club was empty, barring John Bishop and his security detail. Made so, just to accommodate one special guest.

_THUMP. THUMP. THUMP. THUMP._

The doors of the club swung open, as Private Martin escorted the man they called "the Apache," into the main lounge, where Bishop waited.

"Albert Sharp! Just the man I wanted to see," he called, as he got up from the counter to greet his new guest.

If John Bishop II was as truly as dangerous as people made him out to be, he sure didn't look it. With his tight suit, his boyishly handsome looks, and his clean cropped hair, he looked as if he belonged on the stage. But Albert knew that behind that youthful face was a monster that ached to tear itself free.

Albert shook Bishop's hand limply. He had never trusted the mob. Especially not the psychotic madman, John Bishop. He turned to the soldier on his right.

"How much did he pay you?" he asked.

"Nothing, sir," said the soldier, who quickly saluted before leaving hastily.

_THUMP. THUMP. THUMP._

"Albert, come on. What's it been? Two years?" laughed Bishop. "You haven't changed."

"How did you know I was coming to Reno?" demanded Albert. "No one knew, except…"

"Bill Sutter? The man who buys my guns?" Bishop let out another laugh. "I got my little birds everywhere, Albert. They tell me the strangest things. Like the best courier in the whole damn west, taking a little trip to Reno? I just had to see you again, friend."

Albert had dealt with Bishop before. When he had tried his hand at boxing two years ago, it was Bishop who had sponsored his entry. "Couriers are good fighters," Bishop reasoned. "They know how to take a punch." That night, Albert took a little more than he bargained for. And Bishop only watched and laughed.

"Please, Albert, have a seat. Cigar? No? What about a drink?" Bishop offered. "Vodka? A nice beer, maybe? Or are you still a whiskey man?"

Albert shrugged wordlessly. "...Whiskey, I guess," he replied half-heartedly.

_THUMP. THUMP. THUMP._

Mr. Bishop turned to his waiter, a pleased look on his face. "The good Scotch, please. Two glasses." As the waiter went off to fetch the drinks, Bishop turned to the other man on his left. "Eric, do me a favor and tell Mike to taper down? I'd like a bit of quiet while I talk with our guest." Eric gulped nervously as he headed down to the basement.

Bishop turned his attention back to his guest. "Albert, please, sit. I trust you got into the city alright?"

"That I did. You're in bed with the NCR now? Wasn't expecting that," Albert grumbled, grudgingly taking a seat in front of Bishop.

"Those fellas? Nah. I won't lie, I've been meeting with a few members of the brass lately, but those two?" Bishop waved a dismissive hand. "One of my guys caught our dear friends Private Sanchez and Private Martin trying to cheat at the Blackjack tables one night. But I'm a forgiving guy, right? I gave 'em a choice between the carrot and the stick."

"Must've been a pretty big stick."

Bishop raised his hands in mock wonder. "I can't stop people from courting my friendship, Albert. Kimball knows that I'm the most powerful man in Reno, and when the time comes for annexation, he knows he's going to need my support," stated a rather self-impressed Bishop.

"Why? Did Keith Wright and Donnie Van Graff skip town?" Albert asked, a touch impetuously. Behind their boss, the men exchanged a wary glance. However, John Bishop continued to smile, albeit a faint "gritting" behind his grin.

 _Thump_.

"We may own less assets in the city than Mr. Wright, and we may have less money than the Van Graffs, but make no mistake Albert, the Bishops are the true power in New Reno," said Bishop. As he spoke, the waiter arrived with a tray of glasses and a bottle of whiskey, laying them on the table. Bishop made a motion to Albert to help himself.

Albert sighed, grabbing a glass. "Funny, 'cause last time I checked, owning stuff and having money made you pretty damn powerful," said Albert. Mr. Bishop laughed.

"New Reno Arms alone makes more profit than the Wright's brothels or the Van Graff gold trade. But judging by that handsome .308 slung around your shoulder, I don't think I have to tell you about the quality of NRA guns."

_Thump. Thump._

Albert struggled to come up with an explanation. However, Bishop calmly raised a hand in reassurance.

"Now, let's not jump to conclusions," assured Mr. Bishop calmly. "The biggest misconception people have of me is that I'm not a man of reason. Where did you get that rifle, Albert?"

"Belongs to some hillbillies calling themselves the 'Colors Gang.' Or it used to, I guess," Albert stated.

"Ah, of course. Yeah, they've been a pain in my ass this past year. I assume you 'fixed' that problem?" inquired Bishop.

Albert nodded grimly. "I did."

Bishop flashed a toothy smile. "Then you go ahead and keep that rifle. Call it a token of my gratitude." The mobster slapped the table in glee, knocking over the bottle of whiskey. "Albert fucking Sharp. Two years...I can't believe it."

"Neither can I," he responded dryly.

"Now, the last time I saw you...the last time, let's see…" muttered Bishop in mock wonder. He snapped his fingers as if he had only just remembered. "Of course! The last time I saw you was when ol' Tommy 'The Hitman' Higgins…" he paused to act out a violent beatdown, imitating swift punches as he swung his fist through the air: "...beat the  _piss_  out of your face. Don't you remember that?"

_Thump. Thump. Thump._

"Every time I look in the mirror. Nothing leaves a mark like lead plates," admitted Albert, signalling to the waiter for a refill. "Although I seem to remember paying him back in round five."

Bishop nodded proudly. "You did, didn't you? And it was a good thing too. I don't like cheaters, Albert. No honour. The Marquis De Reno is a proud New Reno tradition. We don't condone cheaters," said Bishop, taking a long drag from his cigar.

Albert cleared his throat. "I'm aware of what you do with cheaters, John."  _And everyone else who pisses you off_ , he wanted to add.

"Oh yeah? You know what happened to Tommy?"

Albert shrugged.

"We gave him another fight. With  _him_ ," said Bishop, pointing downwards, towards the floor. Beneath his finger, the ground shook violently.

The Shark Club was not just a casino, it was also one of the venue's for the famed boxing matches of the Marquis de Reno. Underneath the bar was an vast gym, dedicated to training Bishop's personal, specially sponsored champions. Below them came the sounds of the thunderous "thumping" noises- something down there was getting hit, and hit  _hard_. The ground seemed to shake as each " _thump_ " landed.

"Suffice to say, it wasn't a long match," he added. Albert nodded grimly in knowledge.

"How is Mike?" asked a sardonic Albert, pouring out another drink.

"Still fighting. Still winning. Best investment Grandpa ever made. He's a little upset he never got to have his match with you though," said Bishop, a flash of menace in his eyes betraying his calm persona. His words, punctuated by another quick  _thump_.

Albert grunted. "Wouldn't be much of a fight. Tell your mook I ain't interested," he said, taking a drink. As he set his glass down, the liquid inside sloshed around as more punches were thrown from down below.  _Thump. Thump. Thump._

"Maybe you can tell him yourself. Although, he's changed a bit since you last met him." said Bishop slyly, the faint veil of a threat hidden behind his words. The crime lord tossed his now-finished cigar, and clapped his hands together in satisfaction. "Well, that's enough small talk, don't you think? You obviously have questions for me, and I'd like to get them out of the way before we talk business."

"Business?" Albert asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Come on, you don't think I brought you here just to catch up, did you? No…" Bishop shook his head. "You and me, we got plans. Designs. Sure enough, I got something for you, and you're about to have something for me."

"Which is?"

"Money, Albert. Lots and lots of money. You and me, we're gonna make so many goddamn caps…" Bishop mimed kissing his fingertips and tossing them away. " _Belíssimo_."

"Fine. I'm listening," said Albert.

"Let's start with the obvious, Albert. Why are you here?" Bishop asked rhetorically.

"...A rumour...of a job offer from the Mojave Express," Albert said slowly.

Bishop motioned for Albert to continue. "Go on."

"It's something valuable. Something so valuable it's gotten a high price just to carry it. So valuable it scares off the weak and grabs the attention of the capable," Albert guessed.

"Every courier from Shady Sands to Bullhead City is here right now, in this city, waiting for that mysterious call that might never even come. Tell me, you ever know of a courier to act on a rumour?"

"You put a high enough price on a rumour, you're bound to get a few hopefuls."

"And here you are."

Albert shrugged. "I ain't hopeful. I  _need_  that money."

Bishop smiled his devilish smile, as he pulled another cigar from his pocket. "A Mojave Express agent by the name of Wyatt has been gathering intel in the city for quite a while now. Tomorrow, he plans to have a briefing at the business center of the Drunk Cupid, with only the best couriers he can find are invited to hear him out."

"So there is a job then? Because I'd be pretty pissed off if I came here for nothing."

"Well, you're on the right track, Albert. There is a job. But you're wrong about the package," said Bishop. Albert raised another inquisitive eyebrow.

"Yeah it's valuable alright. But it ain't just one package. It's  _six_ ," said the crime lord, raising six fingers. "Six packages for six couriers."

"What is it?" asked Albert. "Jewelry? Guns?"

"Can't say. Don't know," shrugged Bishop. "I can tell you where they're headed though." He refilled Alberts glass, letting the liquid kiss the rim. "New Vegas. You ever been?"

Albert gingerly grabbed his glass. "Not as of late," he stated. He raised his glass, pulling the whiskey down in one gulp.

"What have you heard of New Vegas then, lately?" asked Bishop,

"It's a war-zone."

Bishop shook his head. "The whole blasted country is a war-zone, Albert. No, New Vegas is a wildfire," he corrected, as he lit his cigar. He kept his lighter lit, staring into the flame. "Amidst the most profitable cap making industry on the planet, the city of New Vegas burns."

"I've heard the stories," said Albert. "A massive army from the east, out of Arizona."

"Not an army, Albert. A  _Legion_."

Albert had heard the tales, had seen firsthand the extent of their cruelty. A long forgotten empire, risen up from the dead like an old world legend. An army of slaves all devoted to serving one man. He hadn't encountered this group since his ranger days, at the height of the Hoover Dam scouting campaign in '77. And from what he heard, ever since their first defeat at Hoover Dam, they'd only gotten stronger. Albert had gotten a small taste of this so-called "Legion," and he wasn't very excited to have another.

"Fine. New Vegas. So where do I come in?" asked the courier.

"I have a friend in Vegas...a business partner, I suppose you could call him," suggested Bishop. "My friend...he's taken a rather large interest in one of the packages in this order. He's invested a lot of money in this little operation, and he'd like to see it carried out."

"You still haven't told me what you want from me," said Albert.

Bishop shook his head. "I can't say much more until I know what we're dealing with. But here's the basic plan," He laid down his glass, and cigar for a moment, reaching into his suit pockets. "The meeting at the Drunk Cupid. You probably wouldn't have much trouble getting in, but I can make sure you get in anyhow. Then…" Bishop pointed at Albert. "You listen to this 'Wyatt," see what he has to say. At this point, you'll be given your package. When that's done, you come straight here with whatever you got, and we can discuss the rest of the job from there."

Bishop slid a piece of paper to Albert. On it, the red, white and blue symbol of the Mojave Express was carefully printed on it. "That's your ticket in."

Albert cautiously accepted Bishop's gift. "I still have no idea what's going on," he admitted.

"I wouldn't blame you. But I can tell you this, Albert," Bishop said, as he leaned in closer. Albert saw the malevolent hint of greed dancing behind his eyes.

"There are things being put into motion beyond our understanding. Soon, the NCR and the Legion will be at Vegas's throat, or the other way around. Whoever comes out on top could establish a dynasty in Nevada that will last a thousand years. And it all starts…" Bishop pointed at Albert. "...with a courier."

Bishop promptly dumped his cigar into his glass as it went out with a hiss. "So. The meeting is tomorrow at noon. I'll expect you later that night. Sounds good?"

"I'll consider it," sighed Albert.

Bishop's cheery expression dropped. "No, you won't  _consider_  anything, Albert," said Bishop with a glare. "You get the job, and then you come back here."

"And then what? If I decline your offer?"

_Clink. Clink. Clink._

Bishop looked as if he was about to say something. A cold warning, maybe even a threat; the man's capacity for unpredictable violence was legendary. But he was interrupted.

For at that moment, something big came lumbering up the stairs from below.

Albert had heard stories of the man underneath the the Shark Club. Even when he was a kid, he knew that something evil lurked underneath that casino. When he visited New Reno for his fight, he had seen the man they called 'The Masticator,' in person. What he'd seen had disappointed him. Forty years of boxing in the Marquis De Reno were not kind to Mike. Sure enough, the man was impressive, and the most ferocious fighter he had seen in the ring, but he had failed to live to what Albert wished to see; a monster, so far beyond the realms of humanity.

He had gotten his wish today.

It was a giant, about as large as a baby Deathclaw. It had an impressive build, somewhere between the lines of extremely muscular and grossly overweight, all supported on giant legs the size of tree trunks. It's titanic arms, appearing capable of easily ripping a man apart, or crushing his skull. It wore thick, comical red boxing gloves, emblazoned with the Shark Club logo. For a moment, Albert thought it was wearing power armour, but then reconsidered. Power armour wished it was this strong, this capable of such destructive force. He looked at it's face.

The soulless dead eyes of Bishop's pet monster stared right back at him. The man was horribly disfigured. His skin was mottled and wrinkled, and his nose had been removed. Patches of flesh had been noticeably removed from parts of the behemoth's body, possibly by some odd form of torture. It then occurred to Albert that the man was now a ghoul, preserved in time, just to be Bishop's immortal pet killing machine. Around its neck was a thick metal collar, attached with chains, being held carefully by three of Bishop's men. The creature smelled of death and blood, as it stood there snarling, breathing silently.

As Albert stared into it's eyes, he did not see anger or hate. No, he saw something else, something more primal. Hunger.

Bishop stood there, looking up at his foul creation, his face a twisted grin. He turned back to Albert.

"If you say no...you say no," said Bishop with a wicked smile. Behind him, Mike the Masticator growled.

As Albert kept his eyes on the monster in the room, a man stepped forward to whisper something in Bishop's ears, who nodded appreciatively.

"Your daughter is waiting for you at the Drunk Cupid. Seems she settled in just fine," said Bishop. "I trust I'll see you tomorrow then?"

"...Yeah. I'll be there," said Albert, suddenly anxious to leave. He needed to check on his daughter. He made it halfway to the door before Bishop's words interrupted him.

"Oh, and Albert?"

The courier looked back.

"Enjoy your stay," said the crime lord with a mischievous wink.

And as Albert left the Shark Club, the dead-eyed stare of Mike the Masticator followed him hungrily out the door.

* * *

_I'll admit, I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. I so enjoyed the mob and crime atmosphere of New Reno in Fallout 2 and writing it is pretty fun._

_There are so many characters from the classic Fallout 2 that I want to reintroduce to the series. First one down: Mike the Masticator, the now-ghoulified boxer, and Bishop's pet monster. The role of which, is being played by Chris Walker, from Outlast. Scary dude._

_If you want to imagine John Bishop II's voice, just watch Bray Wyatt do his "Sister Abigail," promo. Sort of chill, but still, oh so very menacing. I can't decide if Bishop is being played by Iwan Rheon or Michael Mando. Although I think Ramsay Bolton with a Bray Wyatt esque voice would be awesome. Bliss._


End file.
